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Xoveiro Unternational Serice 


Marcia 


A NOVEL 


BY 


W. E. NORRIS 

Author ok “Thk Baffled Conspirators,” “My Friend Jim,” Etc., Etc, 


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13. On CiRCUMSTANTiAi, EVIDENCE. By Florence Marryatt 30 

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16. The Search FOR Basil Lyndhuest. By Rosa Nouchette Carey 30 

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35. Kit Wyndham. By Frank Barrett 30 

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39. Sylvia Arden. By Oswald Crawfurd 30 

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49. The Mynns Mystery. By George Manville Penn 30 

50. Hedrl By Helen Mathers 30 

51. The Bondman. By Hall Caine..... 30 

52. A Girl op the People. By L. T. Meade 30 

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66. A March IN the Ranks. By Jessie Fothergill 30 

57. Our Erring Brother. By F. W. Robinson 30 

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61. CosETTE. By Katherine S. Macquoid 30 

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CONTINUED ON THIRD PAGE OF COVER. 


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MARCIA. 


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Xoveire Unternational Series, IRo. 137. 


MARCIA 


A NOVEL 


WkvxEi^NORRIS 

»\ 

AUTHOR OF 

TIIK BAFFLED CONSPIRATORS,” “ MY FRIEND JIM,” ETC , E 



NEW YORK 

UNITED STATES BOOK COMPANY 

SUCCESSORS TO 

JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY 

150 WORTH ST., COR MISSION PLACE 




Copyright, 1890, 

BY 

UNITED STATES BOOK COMPANY. 


MARCIA 


CHAPTER I. 

THE DfeBUT OF MISS THOMPSON. 

It was between five and six o’clock in the morning ; the 
sun was up, and so were most of the four million inhabi- 
tants of London, the lives of most of the four millions 
being spent in hard labor. A numerically insignificant 
minority had just gone to bed, and were taking repose 
after the toils of the night, for they also labor hard after 
their fashion at certain seasons of the year. Two of them, 
however, were still sitting up talking, and were not a bit 
sleepy, nor even tired. For these two young women had, 
for the first time in their lives, been taking part in a very 
grand ball. Moreover, as the ball in question had been 
given by the parents of one of them, and as the other was 
strikingly handsome, it is scarcely necessary to add that 
they had taken a very active part in it indeed. Probably 
no girl, unless she have been so unhappy as to lack part- 
ners, feels tired after her first ball. One of these — the 
strikingly handsome one, who was tall and dark, and had 
that appearance of health and good spirits which is in itself 
beauty — said : 

“ I should like to begin this rhoment and do it all over 
again. Shouldn’t you ? ” 

“ Well — not quite,” answered her companion, a plump 
little brown-haired, brown-eyed maiden, who might just be 
called pretty, because she was so young and had such 
a pleasant, good-humored face, but whose prettiness was 
not of the kind which outlasts many seasons. “ You see, 
I had to dance with a good many people whom I didn’t 


4 


MARCIA, 


want to dance with, and who most likely didn’t want to 
dance with me ; that rather spoilt the first part of it. The 
last two hours were nice enough.” 

“ It was all perfectly glorious from start to finish,” Miss 
Marcia Thompson declared. “ What nonsense the people 
talk who say that London ball-rooms are too crowded to 
dance in ! Perhaps other ball-rooms aren’t as large as 
yours, though ? ” she added, with an apprehensive glance 
at her friend. 

I believe there are plenty larger,” answered Laura 
Beaumont. “The difficulty, it seems, isn’t so much want 
of space as want of men who can dance and will dance.” 

“ Well, there were enough of them to-night,” remarked 
Miss Marcia, with a retrospective smile of satisfaction. 

“ You found enough of them, no doubt, and I dare say 
you always will. By the way, you ought to be congratu- 
lated upon one conquest you have made in the person of 
Mr. Brett.” 

“ Who ? Oh, that old thing ? I didn’t know I had 
made a conquest of him, and I don’t see what there is to 
congratulate me about in it if I have. He isn’t much of a 
dancer.” 

Isn’t he ? Well, at all events, he isn’t an old thing. 
He is a rising young barrister — in fact, he is already a 
risen one ; only he is to rise still higher, everybody says. 
He is going to be Solicitor-General, or Attorney-General, 
or something of that sort, when he has had a little more 
experience.” 

“ I suppose that won’t make him waltz any better, will 
it ? ” 

“ No, but it will add to his distinction, which is consi- 
dered to be very great even now. He hardly ever goes to 
balls, and when he does he usually retires after standing 
for about ten minutes in the doorway. At least, so I am 
told; and now you can understand why his friends 
thought he was paying you a marked compliment by 
dancing with you three times.” 

“Didn’t it occur to his friends that I might be paying 
him rather a marked compliment by allowing him to spoil 
three dances for me? However, I admit that it was an 
involuntary compliment, and it shall not be repeated. 
'I'he truth is that I hadn’t the presence of mind to refuse 
when he asked me. This is what comes of being both shy 
and benevolent.” 


MARCIA, 


5 


Miss Beaumont laughed ; perhaps she did not think that 
either attribute was specially characteristic of her friend. 

“ Well,” she said, “ if Mr. Brett had asked me to dance 
only once, I should have felt much honored. He may 
not be very young, or very beautiful, or even very 
amusing ” 

“ He isn’t the least bit amusing,” interjected Marcia. 

“ But he sets a high value upon himself, and that, of 
course, makes his attentions flattering. Some day, when 
he is Lord Chancellor, you will perhaps look back upon 
this evening with pride.” 

“ Oh, bother him and his attentions ! ” returned Marcia. 
“ By the time that he is Lord Chancellor I shall be dead, 
1 trust. I don’t see what there can be to live for after one 
is forty — or even after one is thirty,” she added, with a 
sigh. 

Marcia Thompson agreed with certain profound philo- 
sophers that the whole aim, object, and meaning of life is 
the attainment of happiness, and, although she was aware 
that happiness may be attained by diverse methods, she 
did not make the mistake of imagining that she herself 
could ever be happy unless she was loved. Moreover, she 
was persuaded — whether rightly or wrongly — that nobody 
would care very much about her after her physical charms 
should have faded. It is, at any rate, certain that her 
])hysical charms had caused her to be beloved by many 
persons of both sexes who possibly might not otherwise 
have been attracted to her. 

“ Miss Thompson,” her old schoolmistress had said to 
her in the course of a valedictory interview, “ you cannot 
but be conscious that you have a beautiful face. Beauty, 
my dear, is a gift of God, like rank and wealth and in- 
tellect, and we, who possess none of these things, are not 
sincere if we pretend to underrate them. See, however, 
that you make a good use of what has been given to you, 
and remember that it must inevitably expose you to 
dangers and temptations. I am glad to think that you 
have the safeguard of a kind heart.” 

This was handsome on the part of the old lady, and was 
tolerably true into the bargain. That her well-meant 
platitudes should produce much effect upon a young girl 
who was about to be launched into society was hardly to 
be expected ; but Marcia really did not intend to make 


6 


MARCIA. 


any bad use of her advantages. She proposed, indeed, to 
use them, as she always had used them, for the subjugation 
of the hearts of others ; but that did not prove her own to 
be an unkind one. Hitherto her conquests had been of a 
very innocent description, and it may be taken as redound- 
ing to her credit that she was adored by her school com- 
panions ; yet one may doubt whether she would have 
achieved so large a measure of popularity without her 
beautiful face and her pretty little ways. 

Chief among her school friends had always been Laura 
Beaumont, with whose hospitable parents she had spent 
more than one happy vacation. For Marcia was an 
orphan, with no near relations, and her guardians, who 
were business men residing in Liverpool, were only too 
glad to place her temporarily under the wing of so unex- 
ceptionable a chaperon as Mrs. Beaumont. Still more 
glad were they when, on the completion of Marcia’s educa- 
tion, the same good-natured lady offered to bring her out 
with her own daughter, to present her at Court, to take 
her into society, and — as the guardians fondly hoped — to 
find a suitable husband for her. Well, it ought not to be 
difficult, they thought, to find a suitable husband for a girl 
who was extremely good-looking and had a nice little for- 
tune of her own. So Marcia was now installed in Gros- 
venor Place for the season, and the ordeal of her first 
Drawing-room was a thing of the past, and it only 
remained to her to amuse herself to the best of her ability, 
which in that direction was considerable. She did not 
think that it would amuse he? at all to flirt with Mr. Brett ; 
and when, some days after this, Laura informed her that 
the future Lord Chancellor was coming to dinner, she only 
made a face, saying that she hoped he would not take her 
in. However, he did take her in, and, in spite of herself, 
she was somewhat impressed and overawed by him. 

A good many people of greater importance and ex- 
perience than Miss Thompson were overawed by Eustace 
Brett at that period of his life. Judges, it was said, were 
a little frightened of him, for he was not only a clever and 
effective advocate, but a good lawyer, and he had an 
awkward way of being always in the right, whereas their 
lordships, like other mortals, were occasionally in the 
wrong. In private, as in public life, he had contrived to 
make himself respected, admired, and to some extent 


MARCIA. 


7 


feared : though how or why he had done so would be 
difficult to explain. He was a tall, spare, middle-aged 
man, with a smooth-shaven face, clear-cut features and 
thin lips, which rarely smiled ; his conversation was not 
brilliant, he had no high connections, nor was there any 
reason, save his eminence in his profession (which could 
hardly be called a sufficient one), for his being admitted 
into the best houses in London. Yet he was so admitted, 
and he refused more invitations than he accepted, and he 
did not always trouble himself to be civil to his enter- 
tainers, which naturally made them take a good deal of 
pains to be civil to him. His manner with Marcia was 
not quite the same as it was with the rest of the world. 
She knew that, although she had had so few opportunities 
of observing his manner with the rest of the world, and the 
distinction flattered her vanity if it did not precisely touch 
her heart. His voice changed when he addressed her ; 
he was evidently anxious to interest her; and he suc- 
ceeded, though perhaps not quite after the fashion in 
which he had intended to succeed. For the rest, he did 
not hesitate to put direct questions to her about her tastes 
and ambitions, nor was he at all lenient in his criticisms 
on her replies. 

“ Oh, but you can’t live simply lor amusement,” he said, 
in answer to one of her remarks, “nobody can do that. 
Some men — that is, if they have large properties or keep 
racing stables or something of that kind — may make their 
amusements a sort of substitute for work ; but I don’t see 
liow women can. You would never be able to persuade 
yourself that it was your sole mission in life to attend balls 
and dinners and evening parties.” 

“ What should you think was my mission in life, Mr. 
Brett ? ” inquired Marcia, turning her large dark eyes upon 
her neighbor. 

“ The same as that of other women, I imagine. If you 
marry — as you certainly will — it will be your mission to be 
a good wife and mother. Which implies a good many 
hours of daily work.” 

“ I suppose so,” returned Marcia, with a grimace. “ The 
moral of that seems to be that I had better amuse myself 
while 1 can.” 

The man was doubtless a prig, possibly also a little im- 
pertinent ; yet he impressed her. His style of making 


8 


MARCIA. 


love (for that he meant to make love was obvious) was at 
all events original and very unlike that adopted by her 
^other admirers. Of other admirers Miss Marcia very soon 
had quite as many as she could manage. Some of them 
were apparently serious, others were doubtful ; but all 
were welcome ; and she was the more kind and encour- 
aging with them when she discovered that Mr. Brett 
strongly disapproved of the levity of her conduct. After 
the evening of the dinner party in Grosvenor Place she 
was continually meeting Mr. Brett, who went into society 
that season more than he had ever done before, and she 
knew that he did this for the sake of meeting her ; and he 
had a way of glancing at her severely and drawing in his 
lips, when she passed him on the arm of some gay youth 
or other, which afforded her much gratification. 

“ You make that poor man waste a great deal of valuable 
time,” Laura (who was not herself overburdened with 
admirers, and consequently had leisure to observe the pro- 
ceedings of others) told her. To which she replied that 
she was innocent of any wish to draw Mr. Brett away from 
his professional labors. Nevertheless, it pleased her to 
think that he was wasting his time for her sake, and she 
was glad to know that he was jealous of her, nor did she 
object to the little lectures whicli he saw fit to administer 
to her from time to time. 

“Does the conversation of these young swells* interest 
you. Miss Thompson ? ” he asked her one evening, “ or 
do you only look as if it interested you by way of increasing 
your popularity?” 

“ All sorts of people interest me,” she answered. I 
don’t think I care particularly what they say, so long as 
they do their best to be pleasant. You never try to be 
pleasant, do you ? ” 

“Oh, yes, I try to be pleasant to the people whom I 
don’t care about ; with the others I try to be honest.” 

“ That is very flattering to me ; because, from the general 
style of your observations, I suppose there can be no doubt 
that you class me amongst * the others.’ Honestly speaking, 
you consider me a very frivolous sort of young woman, 
don’t you ? ” 

“ Not yet,” he answered, in his quiet, deliberate way. 
“ But I should say that there was some danger of your 
becoming so. It seems to me that you care a little too 


MARCIA. 


9 


much for admiration and not quite enough whose admira- 
tion it may be. That is the nature of most women ; but I 
hope it is not your nature — and I don’t think it is.” 

“What is my nature, Mr. Brett?” Marcia inquired; 
and, as she spoke, she turned her face towards his with 
an expression of candid curiosity. 

“ Well,” he said, “ you have strong affections.” ^ 

Marcia nodded. Quite right, so far. Go on, please.” 

“You are not exactly vain ; but you are extremely 
anxious to be liked or thought well of by everybody, and 
that often leads you into saying things which you don’t 
really mean. I shouldn’t wonder if it sometimes led 
you into doing things of which you don’t really approve^ 
You are rather deficient in moral courage, and you have not 
much self-confidence. Your instincts are certainly good ; 
still it is doubtful whether you will follow them, because 
you will always be under the influence of those with whom 
you may happen to associate.” 

“ You are like those tiresome people who grab one’s hand 
after dinner and pretend to decipher one’s character from 
studying the lines on one’s palm,” remarked Marcia. 

“ Have I deciphered it successfully ? ” 

“Oh, yes, I dare say you have. J^etme see ; I am vain, 
insincere, rather cowardly,’ and miserably weak. Yes ; I 
should think that was all right. Any more compliments ? ” 

“ I didn’t know that you wished for compliments,” said 
Mr. Brett, with a grave smile. 

“ Yet you appear lo have discovered that there is nothing 
in the world that I value more.” 

“ I can pay you compliments without turning aside from 
the path of strict honesty. I can tell you — only I am sure 
you are aware of it — that you have a fascination for which 
there is no name that I know of, but which will suffice to 
bring any man or any number of men to your feet just 
as often as you choose to exercise it. I can tell you 
that you are already very powerful, and that you may 
travel a long way before you reach the limits of your 
powers. Then, of course, I can tell you, if you care to 
hear it, that you have eclipsed all the ladies who are called 
beauties to-night.” 

Marcia colored with pleasure. Of such speeches as that 
she felt that she could never have too many. But perhaps 
Mr. Brett thought that he had now been complimentary 
enough ; for he added : 


10 


MARCIA. 


“ The risk is that you may be spoilt by all this adula- 
tion. You may think flirtation so delightful and so amusing 
that it isn’t worth your while to aim at anything else than 
reducing that art to perfection. If you do that, you will 
drive away the only people whose — er — friendship is worth 
having.” 

“ Meaning yourown — er — friendship ? ” inquired Marcia, 
with a very fair mimicry of his intonation. 

“ I won’t say that,” Mr. Brett replied ; “ I don’t give or 
withdraw my friendship lightly. But I confess that I shall 
be grievously disappointed if you turn out a hard-hearted 
flirt, like most of the girls whom one meets. I hope better 
things of you.” 

Marcia laughed and cut short the colloquy by signalling 
to one of her partners, who had been hovering in the ofiing 
for the last minute or so. There are certain accusations 
which have never given offence to any woman since the 
world began. It is wrong to be a hard-hearted flirt ; but 
it is not disagreeable to be stigmatized in that way by 
persons who are incapable of forming a just judgment and 
whose incapacity is due to circumstances for which allow- 
ance may easily be made. At least, Mr. Brett could not 
say that she had flirted with him. 

Nevertheless, other people said so; for this is a cen- 
sorious world, and nobody will ever know how good we 
'really all are and how little we intend to work mischief 
until we learn to judge of our neighbors by ourselves — 
which is a very hard lesson to learn. Laura Beaumont, 
for instance, told her friend in so many words that she was 
behaving abominably. 

It isn’t fair, Marcia,” said she. “ I don’t complain of 
your amusing yourself with these young men, who very 
likely are only amusing themselves with you ; but you 
know quite well that Mr. Brett is in earnest, and, unless 
you are in earnest too, you have no business to go on like 
this.” 

“ Like what ? ” inquired Marcia, with an air of innocent 
amazement. 

“ You ought not to make him think that you are pur- 
posely teasing him, and that you care for him in reality a 
great deal more than you care for anybody else.” 

“ I do hope that he is not so disgustingly conceited as 
to think any such thing ! ” Marcia declared. 


MARCIA. 


II 


I don’t know about the conceit ; I know that is what 
I should think if I were in his place. It stands to reason 
that you wouldn’t sit out two or three dances in succession 
with him, if you didn’t either care for him or wish to make 
him believe that you did.” 

Marcia put her head on one side and considered this 
point for a short space of time before she answered : 

“ Well, I like him, you know. He is different from 
other men ; he scolds roe instead of flattering me, and 
when he is in a good humor he is really rather nice. I 
don’t see why I am bound to refuse his friendship.” 

“ But perhaps he hasn’t offered you that ? ” suggested 
Laura. 

“ He has, though. At least, he kindly gave me to under- 
stand that I possessed it, and that I might possibly lose it 
if I didn’t amend my ways.’^ 

“ Oh, he has got as far as that, has he ? Well, one 
knows the true name of such friendship. Perhaps, after 
all, you won’t lose it.” 

“ I am sure I shall not deserve to lose it,” Marcia replied 
demurely. 

It is scarcely necessary to say that the above conver- 
sation had little influence, one way or the other, upon a 
young woman whose actions were guided rather by her 
heart than by her head, and who was disposed to regard 
the affection of her fellow-creatures as her prerogative. 
Marcia was a good deal more impressed by some remarks 
which fell from her hostess a few days later. Good-natured 
Mrs. Beaumont, who had already married several daughters 
successfully, and expected to marry the youngest of them 
without much difflculty in the course of that season or the 
next, was, for the time being, greatly interested in the 
orphan who had been committed to her charge. What 
with her face and her fortune, Marcia ought, she thought, 
to make a good match, and, although Mr. Brett might 
fairly be counted eligible, he had certain blemishes to 
which it seemed only right to call the attention of the 
inexperienced. She therefore felt it to be her duty to say 
to Marcia : 

“ My dear, I have noticed tnat you see a great deal of 
that Mr. Brett, and he is always calling here now, instead 
of leaving a card at the door, like other people. I have 
nothing in the world to s^ against him; only — he isn’t 


12 


MARCIA. 


very young, and I should think he might be a little bit exact- 
ing. I see that you don’t like my speaking so plainly ; but 
the fact is that a word in season often prevents subsequent 
unpleasantness, and perhaps you will forgive me when you 
remember that just at present I am standing in the place of 
your mother.” 

“ What do you wish me to say, Mrs. Beaumont ? ” asked 
Marcia, after a moment of hesitation. 

Mrs. Beaumont laughed. “ Not very much,” she an- 
swered. “ I only wished to consult you as to whether I 
had not better tell them to say ‘ not at home,’ the next 
time that Mr. Brett calls.” 

“ Of course you can do just what you choose in your 
own house, Mrs. Beaumont,” said Marcia. 

“ Quite so, my dear ; but this time it is a question of 
what you may choose. I don’t think that, if I were you, 
I should choose Mr. Brett. I believe he is pretty well off, 
and he is certainly clever and his character is all that it 
ought to be ; still he is too old for you and rather too 
solemn, according to my notions. Fortunately, he is 
man of the world enough to take a hint, and probably a 
v“ry delicate one will suffice to prevent him from troubling 
you any more.” 

Mrs. Beaumont would not have said that if she had 
understood her protig^e better. Marcia was quite certain 
that she w^s not in love with Mr. Brett ; but she was 
equally certain that it would be painful to her to dismiss 
him, and she never, if she could possibly help it, gave her- 
self pain. So she said ; 

“ I wouldn’t for the world drive any one away from such 
a pleasant house as this, Mrs. Beaumont. There really is 
nothing between me and Mr. Brett — nothing at all ! I hope 
you won’t snub him on my account.” 

Mrs. Beaumont laughed again and replied, “ Very well, 
my dear.” No girl could be expected to proclaim her 
sentiments more distinctly, and if Miss Thompson liked 
middle-aged lawyers that, after all, was Miss Thompson’s 
affair. No objection was likely to be raised against this 
particular lawyer by Miss Thompson’s guardians. 

Thus it came to pass that, without any special exertion 
on his own part, Mr. Brett attained to the position of a 
recognized suitor. 


MARCIA, 


^3 


CHAPTER 11. 

TWO ENGAGEMENTS. 

Success in life is perhaps more often achieved by those who 
start without advantages than by those who, being favor- 
ably handicapped, have leisure to ask themselves whether 
the game is worth the candle. At all events, the men who 
know that they have only their own talents and industry 
to rely upon are likely, if they have any ambition, to exert 
these to the utmost ; and it was doubtless, because he had 
done so, that Eustace Brett had risen, at a comparatively 
early age, to the front rank in his profession. The son of 
a provincial banker, he had declined to join his elder 
brother George in carrying on the paternal avocations, and 
had been thought foolish for throwing away such a chance. 
Possibly he had been foolish, for his brother had become 
a London banker and a rich man ; yet he had attained to 
such eminence in the calling of his choice that his brother, 
like the rest of the world, respected him, and at the time 
with which we are now concerned he was making a large 
annual income. He was, in truth, rather industrious than 
talented, although experience had enabled him to acquire 
a knowledge of human nature which stood him in good 
stead. He believed himself to be an excellent judge of 
character, as indeed he was, within certain limits. No man 
can be a judge of what he has not seen, and there are 
many phrases of human nature of which this distinguished 
lawyer was necessarily ignorant. However, he did not 
know that, and he would have had to be a much-larger- 
minded man than he was to have even surmised it. He 
was in all things thoroughly honest and conscientious ; he 
had, while still young, faced the religious difficulties which 
honest and conscientious men pretty generally have to face, 
and had obtained answers which had seemed to him satis- 
factory from teachers of the Evangelical school ; he was 
now (after passing thrpugh this mild form of a common 


MARCIA. 


14 

disease) quite at rest in his mind with regard to the prob- 
lems of a present and future life ; he went twice to church 
on Sundays and gave away a fair proportion of his pro- 
fessional gains in charity. Evidently, the proper course 
marked out for him was to persevere in well-doing until 
he obtained the legal prize which was his due — to marry 
some worthy and submissive woman, to die in an honored 
old age, and eventually to be deposited in Kensal Green 
beneath a sufficiently imposing weight of marble. 

But Fate, which laughs at the oldest and gravest of us, 
had decreed that Mr. Eustace Brett should make himself 
ridiculous by falling over head and ears in love with a 
school-girl ; and, as he had never been in love before (pos- 
sibly he had never had the time), his love was as serious 
and earnest as everything else about him. He did not 
think himself ridiculous for loving Marcia Thompson, 
although he had at the outset great doubts as to whether 
she would be a suitable wife for him. These doubts were 
overcome when he had seen more of her, because her con- 
versation convinced him that she had a yielding and affec- 
tionate nature ; but, even if he had not reached that happy 
conviction, it would have made no difference, for he loved 
her, and it would have been as impossible to him as to 
any other mortal to resign his hopes of winning her from 
considerations of prudence. Now his hopes of winning' 
her were tolerably strong. It may be that, having hitherto 
obtained everything upon which he had set his heart, he 
was a trifle more self-reliant than a modest man should 
have been ; yet he was not wrong when he said to him- 
self that she displayed an encouraging willingness to defer 
to his wishes. She was very young ; she liked dancing 
and flattery and admiration, but she was discriminating 
enough to distinguish between true gold and mere gilding ; 
added to which, she could, if she had chosen to do so, very 
easily have dismissed a suitor who wearied her. Such was 
Mr. Brett’s analysis of Marcia’s character, and, although it 
was not quite accurate, it did not lack plausibility. 

During this period of his life, Eustace Brett managed to get 
on with an extraordinarily small allowance of sleep. Work 
had to be done ; but then also balls had to be attended, 
and naturally there was nothing for it but to take pleasure 
first and work afterwards — which is not to be recommended 
as a system. He consoled himself with the reflection that 
it was only temporary. A married man who has professional 


MARCIA. 


15 


duties to discharge cannot be expected to go to balls, and 
a married woman should have other ambitions than that of 
shining in society. He did his love-making in a quiet, 
steady, methodical way. He was aware that his age was 
a little against him, and that he had not a face which could 
be counted upon to captivate a young girl’s fancy ; but he 
aspired to reach Marcia’s heart through her reason, which 
was, no doubt, somewhat absurd, and yet was perhaps his 
best chance. 

In obedience to the instructions which she had received, 
or imagined that she had received, Mrs. Beaumont gave 
orders that he was to be admitted whenever he called; and 
very soon it came to be an understood thing that he might 
be expected every Sunday afternoon. Possibly that was 
why Mrs. and Miss Beaumont, being both of them kind- 
hearted people, happened to go out one Sunday afternoon, 
and were thoughtful enough to tell the butler that, if Mr. 
Brett should call, he was to be shown into the drawing- 
room, where Miss Thompson might entertain him until 
their return. However that may be, Mr. Brett did call at 
his accustomed hour, and was at once ushered into the 
presence of Marcia, who held out her hand to him, without 
rising from the arm-chair in which she was reclining, and 
said : 

“ I was wondering whether you would put in an appear- 
ance to-day. I am so glad you have, because they have 
left me all alone, and I don’t know what to do with my- 
self.” 

Mr. Brett was somewhat given to the use of long and 
ceremonious phrases. He replied, “ I am doubly fortunate 
in finding you alone, and of being the humble means of 
providing you with some relief from the monotony of your 
own company. At the same time,” he added gallantly, 

“ it is difficult for me to understand how your company 
could possibly be monotonous.” 

“ You wouldn’t,” observed Marcia, “have the slightest 
difficulty in understanding it if you lived with me.” 

“ I should be glad,” answered Mr. Brett, “ to be allowed 
an opportunity of deciding that point by the test of expe- 
rience; meanwhile, I venture respectfully to dispute it.” 

Marcia thought that in any case it would not take her 
very long to grow weary of so long-winded a companion, 
and it will be admitted that she had some reason for her 


i6 




belief. He was always wearisome and heavy when the 
conversation took that turn, and perhaps he was not with- 
out a glimmering of the truth, for he hastened to change it. 

“ You looked tired, Miss Thompson,” he remarked. 
“ Are you beginning to find out tlmt a London season is 
not only a very fatiguing, but a very monotonous thing ? ” 

“ I don’t think I am,” answered IVfarcia musingly ; “ but 
it isn’t quite such fun as I thought it would be. If other 
people enjoyed it, it would be pleasant enough ; the un- 
fortunate thing is that most of them seem to be too stupid 
to enjoy it.” 

“ On behalf of the stupid majority,” said Mr. Brett, “ I 
beg to assure you that we are less stupid than you think 
us. We enjoy society under certain conditions ; that is, 
when it enables us to meet certain individuals.” 

“ Oh, I wasn’t thinking oi you returned Marcia, not 

over-civilly. 

“ No ; but I was thinking of you. I am hardly whfit 
can be callecL*a society man, but I have liked going 
into society this year for a reason which you can easily 
guess.” And, as Marcia laughed without replying, he re- 
sumed presently : “ I don’t say that I should like it for two 
years in succession, because my spare time is so limited. 
I am glad to think that you also have found one season of 
perpetual racket enough to satisfy you.” 

But indeed I haven’t,” Marcia declared. “ I should 
like to have any number of seasons of perpetual racket. 
I am not like you, you see — my spare time is unlimited.” 

“ Well, at present perhaps it is ; but it will not always 
be so. Miss Thompson, I know you will not be surprised 
when I tell you that I love you, and that my dearest wish 
is to call you my wife. You must have seen that for a long 
time past ; and what gives me some hope is that you have 
never discouraged me. I am not a very young man ; but 
perhaps it is better to be loved by a man who has passed 
the age of change ; and this, I think, I may say for myself, 
that if you will intrust your future happiness to me you 
will not regret it.” 

Marcia was considerably taken aback. She had not ex- 
pected Mr. Brett to make his offer so soon, nor, indeed, 
had he contemplated doing so when he entered the house. 
He now sat, with dispassionate calm, awaiting her reply, 
which, when it came, was a somewhat ambiguous one. 


MARCIA. 


*7 


“ But, Mr. Brett,” she said, “ have you considered what 
you are doing? I — I don’t think I am at all a domestic 
sort of person.” 

He answered, smiling, “ My dear Miss Thompson, you 
can’t very well know yet what your tastes are. I may be 
permitted to doubt whether the kind of life that you have 
been leading lately would not very soon pall upon you. 
But pray don’t think that I should ever wish to exclude 
you from the society of your friends. I should be very 
well content to leave the question of excessive gaiety to be 
decided by circumstances and by your own good sense.” 

“ And if I were to decide in favor of the excessive 
gaiety ? ” 

“ I don’t think you would ; but I am willing to take the 
risk. I am willing, in fact, to take any and every risk. 
Now can you accept me ? ” 

She really did not think that she could. She did not 
love him, yet she was curiously reluctant to dismiss him, 
and she knew instinctively that he was n^t, the kind of 
man to give her a chance of reconsidering her refusal. 
What she would have preferred would have been to keep 
him hanging on for a little longer ; so at length she said, 
“ I can’t feel sure that we care enough for one another, 
Mr. Brett.” 

“You may feel sure, so far as I am concerned,” he 
answered quickly. “ I know I have not been an impas- 
sioned lover ; it is not my way to be impassioned. But 
the simple truth is, that I have never loved any one but 
you, and never shall love any one else. As for your feel- 
ings, I don’t ask or expect that they should be very warm 
towards me just now; I only hope that they may become 
so ; and I believe that they will, if absolute devotion on 
my part can make them so. 

Marcia gazed out through the open window across che 
blaze of flowers in the balcony, and hesitated. What was 
there about this grave, pedantic man that attracted her? 
Why had she in the course of the last week refused two 
offers of marriage from men who were younger, probably 
richer and certainly more attractive in the general accepta- 
tion of the term ? She could not answer these questions, 
although the answer was not such a very difficult one to 
discover. She was drawn towards Eustace Brett, in the 
first place, because she did not quite understand him ; in 


i8 


MARCIA. 


the second, because she was a little afraid of him ; and in 
the third, because she was not a little proud of having 
captured him. 

“ You know what I am,” she began, after a long pause. 

“ I believe I do pretty well,” he answered smilingly. 

“ Well, if you will take me for what I am — but Mrs. 
Beaumont says you are very exacting.” 

“ I do not think that you will find me that.” 

“ Then, if you are sure you will never expect me to be 
what I am not ” 

The next moment Eustace Brett’s thin lips were pressed 
upon Marcia’s forehead, and the moment after that she 
regretted her precipitancy. She had done a foolish thing, 
and she was frightened and would have liked to draw 
back, only she had not the requisite courage. Yet it is 
not improbable that she would have made her condition of 
mind apparent to him, and that he would have granted her 
her release — for, in spite of his solemnity and priggishness, 
he was neither an ungenerous man nor a fool — if at this 
moment Mrs. and Miss Beaumont had not appeared upon 
the scene. Their entrance, of course, put an end to the 
interview, and after a few minutes Mr. Brett got up and 
took his leave. 

Scarcely had he quitted the room when Mrs. Beaumont, 
who was looking happy and excited, announced that she 
was the bearer of a piece of news, which she was sure that 
dear Marcia would be glad to hear. This was nothing less 
than that Lord Wetherby had proposed to Laura that after- 
noon and had been accepted. 

“ A complete surprise to me,” Mrs. Beaumont declared, 
“ though I dare say it may not be so to you.” 

But it was a very great surprise to Marcia, and somehow 
or other it was not quite as pleasant a one as it should 
have been. This Lord Wetherby, who was one of the 
frequenters of the house in Grosvenor Place, but who had 
never, so far as Marcia’s observations had gone, been 
specially attentive to Laura, was in all respects an excel- 
lent match. He was young, he was rich, he was by no 
means bad-looking and his temper was as good as his 
manners. Now, Laura was doubtless thoroughly worthy 
of any matrimonial prize: still it was a little bit astonish- 
ing to hear that she had secured one, and Marcia could not 
repress a sharp pang of jealousy, together with a sense of 


MARCIA. 


19 


personal humiliation. As for making known her own 
engagement, she felt that, for the moment, it would be 
impossible to do that. What was her distinguished, but 
mature and plebeian lawyer in comparison with this unex- 
ceptionable young nobleman ? To proclaim her destiny, 
after hearing what Laura’s was to be, would be a descent 
to positive bathos. 

All these thoughts passed rapidly through her mind, 
but were not legible upon her face, because she had 
promptly cast herself into the arms of her friend ; and by 
the time that the embracings were over she had recovered 
her outward serenity sufficiently to resume her seat smil- 
ingly, and beg to be told all about it. But, although her 
request was complied with, it may be doubted whether she 
heard very much of the triumphant paean which good Mrs. 
Beaumont proceeded to sing. Not until late that niglit 
could she make up her mind to confide to Laura that she 
also was about to become a bride, and the warmth with 
which she was congratulated seemed to her to be a trifle 
excessive. 

“ I am so very glad ! ” Laura exclaimed. “ I was sure 
you cared for him, though you wouldn’t admit it.” 

“Were you?” returned Marcia. “Then you knew 
more than I did. More than I know even now perhaps,” 
she added, with a smile and a sigh. 

“ But then, my dear Marcia, why in the world ” 

“Ah, exactly! that’s just what I can’t tell you. Well, 
he seems inclined to let me have my own way, which is 
some comfort. He said he was prepared to take any risk.” 

“ I hope you won’t accept that too literally,” said Laura 
gravely. 

“ Oh, I warned him that I was not a domestic person. 
I dare say I shall go to more balls than he will care about ; 
but then of course it will always be open to him to stay 
at home.” 

Laura shook her head, for this did not sound to her like 
a very hopeful beginning ; but her mother, to whom she 
subsequently reported Marcia’s remarks, laughed and did 
not seem to think much of them. 

“ Marcia is a good girl and will settle down into a good 
wife,” the experienced matron said. “ I am rather sorry 
that she is going to marry a man so much older than her- 
self ; but, after all, it is her own choice, and he will cer- 


20 


MARCIA. 


tainly be kind to her. I should think he was just — and 
even generous, in his way.” 

In the way of money, at all events, Mr. Brett proved 
himself to be generous ; for he insisted that Marcia’s for- 
tune should be settled upon herself ; and this gave her 
guardians a good opinion of him. The guardians, indeed, 
thought that the girl had done quite as well for herself as 
coii^d be expected. They were not sorry to be relieved of 
their responsibilities ; they considered that she had shown 
a discretion beyond her years in selecting a husband of 
established reputation and unblemished character, and 
they gladly fell in with Mrs. Beaumont’s suggestion that 
the wedding ceremony should be solemnized at the same 
time and place as that of her daughter and Lord Wether- 
by. Marcia herself, after the first moment of repentance 
which has been mentioned, was disposed to acquiesce in 
her lot. She really liked her betrothed, who was not al- 
ways as tedious as he has appeared in the last few pages ; 
he gave her some beautiful presents, he deferred to all her 
wishes and seemed sincerely anxious to make her happy. 
Evidently his love was of a practical rather than of a de- 
monstrative kind j but perhaps, under all the circum- 
stances, that was hardly a matter for regret. 

So Marcia’s first London season, which was also to be 
her last as a spinster, passed away, and on the eve of the 
day appointed for the double wedding the two girls renewed 
the vow of eternal friendship which they had exchanged 
at school, promising that in the future, as in the past, they 
would tell one another everything. 

“Not that you will have much to tell,” Marcia remarked. 
•‘You adore Lord Wetherby, who adores you, and you 
will just go on like that till one of you dies. You will be per- 
fectly happy, and do you think you will ever be a little 
dull? No; I suppose not.” 

“ I hope not,” answered Laura, “ and I hope you will be 
as happy as we shall.” 

“ Oh, there’s no telling. I may have a dull life or I 
may have a merry one ; the doubt is what consoles me. 
Nowadays when people start for India or Australia 
they simply take their passage as if they were getting into 
a railway carriage. It is safe and comfortable ; but it isn’t 
interesting. In old times, before they undertook such a 
voyage, they made their wills and took leave of their 


MARCIA. 


21 


friends, and there was no certainty at all that they would 
ever reach their destination. All sorts of exciting adven- 
tures might happen to them. They might be wrecked or 
captured by pirates, or fifty things. Now, that is the sort 
of voyage that I am about to set out upon.” 

“ I think I prefer the safety and comfort to the excite- 
ment,” said Laura. 

‘‘ Well, I don’t think I do. That is the difference betv'een 
you and me, my dear.” 


CHAPTER III 

TEN YEARS LATER. 

It is always the unexpected, we are told, which comes to 
pass ; but perhaps, if this be the case, it is less by reason 
of the numerous accidents of life than because so few of 
us have insight or foresight enough to discern probabilities. 
It was not, for instance, really probable that Marcia’s 
career as the wife of Eustace Brett would be marked by 
any startling or exciting incidents, although she herself half 
hoped, half feared, that it would be, and although an un- 
concerned bystander might very well have thought the 
conditions favorable for the development of a domestic 
drama. Here was a husband no longer young, sedate 
beyond his years and immersed in work during the greater 
part of the day and night; here was a wife utterly without 
experience, eager for admiration and possessed of a face 
and form which were pretty certain to provoke it ; better 
materials for the construction of the time-honored tragi- 
comedy could not be desired. But, as a matter of fact, 
nothing of the sort was enacted. What happened was 
what more often than not does happen when such a man 
marries sudi a woman. They were not happy together, 
nor were they particularly unhappy ; he yielded a little 
and she yielded a little; they did not quarrel, but they 
soon became hopelessly estranged, because they had not 
a single interest in common, and because the deep affection 
which he had for her was not evidenced in the only way that 
she could have understood. Of the two he was doubtless the 
more unhappy ; for he loved his wife, and by the end of 


22 


MARCIA. 


a year he had reached the conviction that she did not love 
him and never would. At the same time, it is only fair to 
her to say that he had grievously disappointed her, and 
that he was in a great measure to blame for that. She 
had imagined him a masterful man, and if he had shown 
himself masterful and had also been a little less sparing 
of small endearments, he might possibly have made a 
conquest of her. But he did not do so. He allowed her 
to have her own way, while often expressing disapproval 
of it ; he neither issued commands nor asked favors ; and 
so they gradually drifted apart until a gulf opened between 
them which was all the more impassable because neither 
of them quite realized its width. 

Marcia sought consolation in society ; and it must be 
admitted that she sought it pretty successfully. She 
became very popular ; she entertained a good deal, at’first 
oh a small scale, afterwards, as her acquaintance increased, 
rniore extensively ; her beauty developed as she grew older, 
and she soon acquired the tone and habits of a fashionable 
woman. Her admirers were many in number ; but they 
were such admirers as husbands do not commonly object 
to, and if Mr. Brett objected to any of them, he refrained 
from saying so. To some of her lady friends he did object, 
but that was in early days. When she had gained a little 
experience, she found that there were certain houses in 
which it was as well that she should not be thought to be 
upon a footing of intimacy, and she wisely avoided those 
houses. The beautiful Mrs. Brett was commended for her 
discretion, and indeed it was very necessary that she 
should be discreet, for her husband rarely accompanied 
her into the gay world, the press of his avocations 
rendering it impossible for him to do so. 

He, like Marcia, had to seek for consolation somewhere, 
and he found it in unremitting labor. Thus he filled up 
his time and had no leisure for despondency, and made 
large sums of money, which were spent as so(?n as made ; 
for he had a big house in Portland Place, and his wife’s 
parties were expensive. In one sense he may have been 
wise ; in another he was fatally foolish ; for a system of 
all work and no play often has results more disastrous 
than that of mere dullness. The result in poor Mr. Brett’s 
case was a total nervous break-down, accompanied by an 
illness which for some weeks threatened to end his life. 


MARCIA, 


23 


He pulled through ; but he rose from his bed a changed and 
aged man. The doctors enjoined a long period of absolute 
rest ; so that for six months the house in Portland Place 
was closed, while its owners wandered through Southern 
France and Italy. It was a sad journey for them both. 
They were thrown together more than they had ever been 
since their marriage, and their lack of mutual sympathy 
necessarily became accentuated. Eustace Brett, who had 
never learnt how to amuse himself and was too old to learn 
by that time, was bored to death. He gradually recovered 
his health to some extent, but was often suffering, some- 
times peevish, and always longing for the unwholesome 
atmosphere of the law courts. As for Marcia, she would 
have been miserable enough, but for the companionship 
of her only child, a bright-faced boy, whom she adored. 
She could not be unhappy while she had Willie with her ; 
and who knows from what perils and temptations and evil 
thoughts and foolish actions that little black-eyed mortal 
may not have saved her? Never, surely, since the world 
began was there such a dear, good boy ! That, at all 
events, was his mother’s opinion, and indeed she might be 
pardoned for holding it. He was a sturdy little man, and 
sometimes he got into mischief, like other children ; but 
he was as brave as a lion, and he told no lies, and he loved 
his beautiful mother with all his heart. On the other hand, 
he had no great affection for his father, who alarmed him 
and did not know what to say to him. 

Eustace Brett returned joyfully to London and work ; 
but his joy was of brief duration. A very short time 
sufficed to make it manifest to him that the ambitious 
dreams which had been nearer to his heart than he had 
supposed must be laid aside at once and forever. A com- 
petent authority told him as much in plain words. 

“Of course, Mr. Brett,” said the doctor, “you can kill 
yourself if you choose ; you will easily accomplish that in 
about a year,T should think. But you cannot go on as 
you are doing now and live. I am far from saying that 
you are not to use your brain in moderation ; only you 
have overtaxed it, and it will not serve you in the future 
as it has served you in the past.” 

The unfortunate man bowed to a decision which his 
own sensations confirmed, and went away with a heavy 
heart. What was to become of him? He had secret 


24 


MARCIA, 


hopes of a judgeship ; but for various reasons these hopes 
were not realized, and one morning he announced to his 
wife, in his usual deliberate, unimpassioned voice, that he 
had been offered the appointment of a London Police- 
magistrate, and had accepted the offer. From every point 
of view, it was a melancholy descent. Marcia had long 
ceased to take a lively interest in her husband’s fame and 
fortunes, although she had always imagined that he would 
eventually become one of the Law-officers of the Crown ; 
but what appealed to her feelings far more than the 
abandonment of this prospect was the necessity which was 
now explained to her that they should greatly reduce their 
style of living. Between them, she and her husband would 
henceforth be able to make up something over ^^3000 a year, 
which certainly cannot be called poverty ; still everything 
is relative, and they had been accustomed to expend every 
penny of a much larger income. When Marcia removed 
herself and her knickknacks from Portland Place to Corn- 
wall Terrace, Regent’s Park, her sensations were akin to 
those which a patriotic emigrant may be supposed to ex- 
perience on bidding his native land good-night. She could 
not believe that anybody “ in society ” could dwell in the 
Regent’s Park, and that small section of the society of 
London into which she had found her way seemed to her to 
be the only society worth living in. Of course she was mis- 
taken, because there are plenty of charming people quite 
outside the fashionable world ; yet her mistake was not 
unnatural, for when all has been said against it that can be 
said (and that is a good deal), the smart society of London 
remains, upon the whole, the pleasantest, the best-bred, and 
the easiest society in the modern civilized world. Marcia, 
who, like many of its members, did not belong to it by 
right of birth, had assimilated its habits, and the thought 
of severing herself from it caused her to shed some bitter 
tears. 

Yet the new manner of life did not prove to be so unlike 
the old one as she had feared that it would be. She was 
too popular to be allowed to drop out of sight, and her 
change of address caused no sensible diminution in the 
number of daily invitations which she received. It was 
her husband who was forgotten, and whose existence was 
not always recognized upon the invitation cards. For that 
matter, he seemed very willing to be forgotten, and even 


MARCIA. 


25 


when he was asked to dinner, he generally requested his 
wife to send an excuse on his behalf. 

One evening, some ten years after her marriage, Marcia 
was going out to dine without Mr. Brett, who had, as usual, 
declined to accompany her. She was bound for the 
house of her old friend Lady Wetherby, and she looked 
forward to a pleasant evening, because Lady Wetherby 
gave nice little dinners, and always took some pains in 
assorting her guests. In Lady Wetherby’s case the unex- 
pected had not occurred. She was a happy, prosperous 
woman ; she and her husband were the best of friends ; 
she had two children, a boy and a girl ; she discharged her 
social duties with ease and success, and she was interested 
in many charitable undertakings. Whether she and Marcia 
had adhered strictly to their engagement that they would 
tell one another everything may be doubted — after a certain 
age, one perceives the difficulty of carrying out such pledges, 
— but their friendship had stood the test of time, and 
when Mrs. Brett was attacked (for indeed Mrs. Brett was 
far too handsome to escape attack), it was not in the pre- 
sence of Lady Wetherby that any one ventured to make 
insinuations against her. It was a somewhat stout and 
matronly personage who embraced Marcia on her arrival 
in St. George’s Place, and made some perfunctory inquiries 
about the health of the absent Police-Magistrate : Lady 
Wetherby, like other people, had learnt to regard Mr. Brett 
as more or less of a cypher. About a dozen guests were 
assembled in her pretty, dimly-lighted drawing-room, and 
with most of these Marcia was already acquainted. She 
did not, however, remember to have met before a young 
man whom her hostess presently led up to her and intro- 
duced as Mr. Archdale. 

Mr. Archdale tells me that he hasn’t the pleasure of 
knowing you,” Lady Wetherby said j “ but you must know 
him very well by name.” 

“ The Mr. Archdale ? ” inquired Marcia, with a smile, 
after bowing to the stranger. 

“ Oh, I suppose so,” he replied, shrugging his shoulders 
and laughing. “ At least, I am the man who paints the 
careful little pictures — which is probably what you mean.” 

“ I am not an art critic,” said Marcia ; “ but I like your 
pictures better than anybody else’s, and if they are care- 
fully painted, isn’t that an additional merit } ” 


26 


MARCIA. 


“ Oh, they are carefully painted,” answered the young 
man. “ I take a lot of time and trouble about them ; but 
people who are said to be judges tell me that they aren’t 
first-rate, and I can well believe it. However, they have 
brought me fame and money ; so that I ought to be content- 
ed. In point of fact I am contented.” 

He certainly looked so. His perfectly chiselled fea- 
tures, his sleepy blue eyes, with their long dark lashes, the 
pose of his small head, the smile that perpetually hovered 
about his lips and the slight drawl with which he spoke — 
all expressed a lazy satisfaction with the world into which 
he had been born, and which in truth had so far brought 
him a great deal more happiness than discomfort. He wore 
a short peaked beard and a moustache which was twisted 
upwards ; his crisj), curly brown hair was cut close, and 
his clothes fitted him very nicely. Evidently he was a bit 
of a dandy as well as a celebrated artist. Marcia at once 
took a fancy to him — she was not peculiar in that respect 
— and was glad when he told her that he had received 
instructions to conduct her to the dining-room. 

“ And now,” said she, by way of opening the conver- 
sation, after they had taken their places at the table, “ I 
want you to improve my mind a little with regard to art. 
It isn’t every day that I get the chance of sitting beside a 
genius.” 

“ If you will promise not to betray me, Mrs. Brett,” he 
replied, “ I will confess to you that you haven’t that privi- 
lege to-night. I can draw pretty well, and I know some- 
thing about color : more can’t be said for me. It is true 
that the public and' the newspapers say a good deal more, 
but that is only because they know no better.” 

“ Is that the modesty of true greatness or only an unwor- 
thy attempt to extract compliments ? ” asked Marcia. 

“ It’s neither, it’s the unvarnished truth. I’m afraid I 
can’t say anything that is likely to improve your mind, 
because my own is of the earth, earthy. I love everything 
beautiful ” — here he suddenly raised his eyes for a moment 
to his neighbor’s face — “ and I suppose that is why I am 
a painter, but when my brother-artists begin to talk trans- 
cendentalism, I’m out of it. I simply don’t know what 
they mean — I don’t feel that I have any high mission ; I 
don’t want to elevate the human race ; the human race in 
its present imperfect condition is good enough for the 


MARCIA. 


27 


likes of me. As far as I know myself I want nothing 
except to have a good time while I can. Let us eat and 
drink, for to-morrow we die.” 

Marcia assumed that he did not quite mean what he 
said ; yet his sentiments did not fail to find an echo in 
her own heart, and indeed he was so handsome that he 
might have said far worse things without shocking her. 
She, too, loved beauty ; she, too, had a very great desire 
to enjoy herself ; and although she went to church regu- 
larly and accepted the doctrines of Christianity in a theo- 
retical sort of way, she was far from thinking the world as 
bad a place as some Christians would have us believe it. 
She and her companion had a long talk about art, in the 
course of which they contrived to say many things alto- 
gether irrelevant to their subject, and to become very well 
acquainted with one another. When the ladies left the room 
and Lady Wetherby asked her how she had got on with 
her partner, she answered : 

“ I think he is quite charming. He isn’t a bit conceited 
or shoppy, and he seems to like all the things that I like.” 

‘‘ I wouldn’t answer for his not being conceited,” returned 
Lady Wetherby, laughing ; “ but he doesn’t appear to be 
shoppy, and I can quite unterstand that your tastes agree. 
He is coming to stay with us in the country later on. 
Wetherby has given him an order to paint some panels for 
us, and I daresay he will take a long time about it ; for he 
is a very idle youth, notwithstanding his cleverness.” 

“ Is he well off? ” Marcia asked. 

“ Well, yes, I believe he has a little money ; and, of 
course, now that he is the fashion, he gets long prices for 
his pictures. For his own sake it is unfortunate that he 
isn’t obliged to work harder.” 

“ But for the sake of other people it is fortunate that he 
sometimes has time to dine with his friends,” observed 
Marcia. And she thought she would like to ask this inter- 
esting young artist, who so little resembled other artists, 
to dine in Cornwall Terrace. 

However, she could not do that without leave ; for her 
husband, who was becoming more and more of a recluse, 
detested strange faces. Besides, Mr. Archdale disappointed 
her a little by making no effort to join her when he ap- 
peared with the other men. She noticed that while ostensibly 
conversing with the two ladies behind whose chairs he had 


28 


MARCIA. 


seated himself, he was surreptitiously sketching something 
or somebody upon his shirt-sleeve, and when at length the 
groups broke up and he slowly approached her, she said — 

“ If it isn’t an impertinent request, might I look at your 
cuff, Mr. Archdale ? ” 

“ Oh, certainly,” he answered, laughing ; “ but I have 
made a mess of it. I daresay you won’t guess whose profile 
this is meant to represent.” 

She had not, however, any difficulty in recognizing the 
subject of the outline submitted to her, and in truth the 
portrait was not an unflattering one. “ I should be very 
ungrateful if I complained of that,” she remarked, smilingly. 
“ Is it a habit of yours to amuse yourself in this way when 
you dine out ? ” 

He shook his head. 

“ Too dangerous,” he answered. “ Still once in a while 
I venture to run the risk, because there are chances which 
one would never forgive oneself for losing. You see, Mrs. 
Brett, for anything that I know, this first meeting of ours 
may be our last.” 

“ Oh, I hope not,” said Marcia, in her friendly way — 
and it was this friendly way of hers which had won her such 
a number of friends. “ In London one can generally meet 
people whom one wants to meet, I think. Besides, if you 
care to call upon me, I shall be very glad to see you any 
Wednesday afternoon, when I am always at home.” 

She gave him her address, which he wrote down upon 
his shirt-cuff, beneath her portrait, and soon after that 
she went away. Archdale, who was upon a footing of 
intimacy with his host and hostess, lingered until the 
other guests had departed, when he said — 

“ Your friend is simply divine ! Who in the world is 
she ? ” 

“ Oh, she is human enough,” answered Lord Wetherby, 
with a laugh. “ She is the wife of the beak, and she is 
about the most confirmed flirt that I know ; and if I were 
you, my young friend, I wouldn’t attempt to captivate her, 
because that is a little game at which she can give you 
points and a beating.” 

“ Don’t believe him, Mr. Archdale,” struck in Lady 
Wetherby, “ he knows nothing at all about it. Marcia 
Brett, who is one of my oldest friends, is no more a flirt 
than I am. It isn’t her fault that her cantankerous old 


MARCIA. 


29 


husband chooses to shut himself up, and it isn’t her fault 
that she is beautiful, or that men who ought to know better 
fall in’ love with her. I hope you are not going to be so 
silly, Mr. Archdale. If you are, and if you imagine that 
she will ever care a straw about you, you will be disap- 
pointed, I am afraid.” 

“ My dear Lady Wetherby,” replied the young artist,* 

the mischief is already done ; I am desperately in love ‘ 
with her. Oh, you needn’t look so shocked ; there’s 
nothing wrong about it j my love is purely platonic, and I 
haven’t the slightest hope of its being returned. 'All the 
same, I hope the beak isn’t a jealous husband.” 

Lady Wetherby did not smile. She knew that this 
young man, whose familiarity her good-natured husband 
had encouraged to an extent of which she did not entirely 
approve, had the reputation of being . a lady-killer, and she 
also knew that Marcia, if not a flirt, was not always so 
circumspect as her friends could have wished her to be. 

“ I don’t think Mr. Brett is jealous,” she said coldly. 

“ At any rate, I am sure that he has no reason to be so.” 

Lord Wetherby stuck his hands in his pockets and 
walked up and down the room, whistling softly. 

“Come and smoke a cigar before you go, Archdale,” 
said he. “ Laura is such a good woman herself that she 
thinks other women must be like her. They ain’t, 
though.” 


CHAPTER IV. 

MARCIA’S SON. 

Lord Wetherby was perhaps a little unfair in describing 
Marcia Brett as a flirt ; yet he was not alone in holding 
that opinion of her. Of course all depends upon the 
meaning which may be attached to the word “ flirtation ; ” 
but a pretty woman who prefers the society of the other 
sex to that of her own can hardly expect to escape censure, 
and Marcia had not escaped it, in spite of her discretion. 
It may be that she had been discreet for the simple reason 
that no man had as yet succeeded in touching her heart ; 
but several had made the attempt, and with a great many 


30 


MARCIA, 


she had had periods of close intimacy. She frankly con- 
fessed that she liked men, and that she did not, as a 
general rule, like women. Of the latter, some had scan- 
dalized her, some had deceived her, while almost all had 
made her acquainted with the little spites and meannesses 
which are too apt to disfigure feminine nature. “ With 
men,” she was wont to say, you know at least where 
you are. They can’t deceive you, and they very seldom 
try. But I have never yet met a woman, except Laura 
Wetherby, of whom I should dare to make a friend.” 

With ladies, therefore, experience had taught her to be 
upon her guard; but in other respects she was little 
changed at the age of twenty-eight from what she had been 
at eighteen. She had the same warm affections, the same 
intense longing to be loved, or at all events liked, the same 
youthful capacity for enjoying herself. And what change 
there was in her appearance was (as she perceived with ’ 
joy from a daily and careful study of her features in the 
looking-glass), rather in the nature of an improvement. 
She had had some troubles and anxieties ; but these had 
passed away without leaving any of the indelible traces by 
which the countenances of nervous persons are so often 
scored ; she certainly did not look her age, and there 
seemed to be ground for hope that she had still many 
years of juvenility before her. 

As she was being driven homewards in her brougham 
she experienced that pleasant feeling of anticipation and 
excitement which the acquisition of a new acquaintance 
always gave her. She knew very well that she had pro- 
duced an impression upon Mr. Archdale, and he, on his 
side, had produced a certain impression upon her. He 
was, at any rate, something of a novelty. Tiie young 
men whom she had hitherto taken up and invited to dinner 
and associated with until she and they had grown mutually 
tired of one another, had been very nice in their way, but 
had somewhat lacked variety. They had all belonged to 
the class which shoots in autumn, hunts in winter, attends 
the principal races in summer, and is more or less in Lon- 
don at every season of the year. She had at one time tried 
to make something of the gentlemen learned in the law 
whom Mr. Brett occasionally brought home with him, 
but had found them quite impossible. She had therefore 
been forced to fall back upon the well-dressed youths whom 


MARCIA, 


3 * 


her husband, without much discrimination, stigmatized as 
‘‘mashers,” and whom he regarded with ill-concealed 
aversion. Marcia regretted this ; because, although Mr. 
Brett was not a jealous man, it made her uncomfortable to 
see him looking so cruelly bored ; added to which, he 
would not permit any addition to be made to her visiting- 
list without his previous sanction. 

Well, anyhow he would like Mr. Archdale, she hoped. 
He could not call that eminent artist a masher, or speak 
of him as an utterly useless member of the community. If 
there was one thing that Eustace respected it was intellect, 
and she herself was beginning to think that a little display 
of intellect would be welcome, by way of a change. She 
really wished to please her husband when she could ; and 
so, after reaching Cornwall Terrace, she entered his study 
with a smile upon her lips ; for this time, at all events, 
she would be able to tell him that she had made a new 
friend from whose conversation some improvement might 
be derived. 

He was sitting at his big writing-table, with a shaded 
lamp by his side and a pile of books and notes before him. 
At the sound of the opening door he turned his head, and, 
on catching sight of his wife, sighed rather wearily. He 
had become quite an old man ; the little hair that he had 
left was grey, and his thin cheeks were deeply wrinkled, 
“ Well,” he said, “ have you had a pleasant evening? ” 

This was what he invariably said when she came in, and 
the eternal question generally irritated her, not only 
because it was rather silly in itself, but because she knew 
that he never paid any attention to her reply. On the 
present occasion she made no reply at all, but said : “ How 
tirrd you look ! Why do you sit up working like this ? ” 

“ I am not more tired than usual,” he answered 
peevishly ; “ nor am I working. I was only looking up 
the authorities upon a point which was raised to-day in the 
Court of Queen’s Bench, and which — but you wouldn’t 
understand.” 

He pushed away his books and papers, with another sigh, 
turned his chair so as to face that in which she had seated 
herself, and passed his hand over his forehead. “ Let me 
see,” he said ; “ where have you been to-night ? Oh, to 
Lady Wetherby’s, wasn’t it ? I suppose you met the usual 
nonentities.” 


3 * 


MARCTA. 


“ Yes,” answered Marcia, yawning and drawing off her 
long gloves ; ‘‘ most of them were what you call nonentities. 
May I have something to drink, if I am not interrupting 
you ? ” 

She was interrupting him, and he looked as if he thought 
so ; but he replied politely, “ Not at all,” and rang the bell 
for Apollinaris. 

“ There was one rather brilliant exception, though,” 
Marcia resumed ; “ Mr. Archdale, the artist, you know.” 

“ Archdale ? Oh, yes, the man who apes Meissonnier 
in a humble way. Yes ; I have been told to admire the 
pictures that he exhibits. So he was brilliant, was he ? ” 

‘‘ Not offensively so. He seemed to be pleasant and 
clever, and I thought of asking him to dinner some night, 
if you don’t mind.” 

“ More dinner parties ! ” sighed Mr. Brett. “ We have 
had four in the last fortnight.” 

“ Yes ; but three of them were in one week, and it is 
inpossible to go on accepting everything and doing 
nothing in return.” 

“ Oh, of course,” said Mr. Brett, “ if you start upon the 
presumption that everything must be accepted ” 

Marcia gave her shoulders a littie impatient jerk. All 
this had been said so often before, and she had explained 
so many times that one cannot pick and choose, that one 
must either accept hospitality or refuse it ! Her husband, 
for his part, was fully aware of the futility of the protests 
which he could not refrain from making. He was not 
convinced that it was necessary to entertain as much as 
they did, and the expense of their entertainments had 
become a source of anxiety to him ; yet since his wife’s 
income was now equivalent to his own, he did not feel 
justified in prohibiting her from spending it as she pleased. 
After a pause, he said : 

“ If Lady Wetherby receives Mr. Archdale, that may be 
taken as a guarantee of respectability, I suppose. By all 
means ask him. He cannot be more inane than the others, 
and he may possibly be less so.” 

“ He is not in the least like the others,” Marcia declared, 
‘‘ and if only you could divest your mind of the prejudice 
that you always have against any friend of mine, I believe 
you would find him an agreeable companion. That is why 
I wanted to cultivate his acquaintance, because, after all, I 


MARCIA, 33 

Would rather invite people to the house whom you could 
get on with, if I did but know where to find them.” 

“The difficulty, no doubt,” observed Mr. Brett, with a 
faint smile, “ is to find people who can get on with me. 
But perhaps if Mr. Archdale decides to honor us with his 
company, it will not be for my sake ; so that my unsocia- 
bility is of no great consequence.” 

“ I don’t see why you should determine in advance to 
be unsociable,” said Marcia. 

“ You mean, perhaps, that you don’t see why I should 
recognize an indisputable fact. But the recognition of 
facts has always been my strong point, whereas it is 
scarcely yours.” 

After this there was another long pause, during which 
Mr. Brett looked wistfully at his books, while Marcia 
sipped her Apollinaris meditatively. She knew that he 
wanted to get rid of her ; but for some reason or other she 
felt more anxious to conciliate him that night than usual ; 
so she lingered on, and at length — for she could think of 
nothing better to say — she asked, “ What have you been 
doing all day, Eustace ? ” 

“ What do I do every day? ” he returned. “ I sat in 
Court until the usual hour ; then I went to the club for a 
little ; then I came home and dined by myself ” 

“ That was your own choice,” interrupted Marcia. 

“ Of course it was my own choice. And since dinner I 
have been reading and writing.” 

“ It dees seem to me to be a great pity that you should 
choose to lead such a life,” Marcia said. “ You don’t like 
it, it doesn’t agree with you, and I don’t believe it would 
agree with anybody. If you had -gone to the Wetherbys 
with me to-night they would have been very pleased to 
see you.” 

“ You think so ? I have my doubts as to that ; but I 
have no doubt at all that it wouldn’t have pleased me to 
see them.” 

‘‘ Yet you profess to have such an admiration and 
esteem for Laura Wetherby.” 

“ I think Lady Wetherby is an excellent woman who 
performs her duties unexceptionally. In her position it is 
one of her duties to give dinner-parties. But it is not one 
of mine to attend them.” 


3 


34 


MARCIA, 


Are you so certain of that ? Some people would say 
that it is a husband’s duty to be seen at least occasionally 
with his wife.” 

Mr. Brett’s pale cheeks turned paler, which was always 
a sign of anger with him. “ I thought,” he replied coldly, 

that we had long ago come to an understanding upon 
that point. I have no inclination for society, and if I had, 
my health would not allow me to turn night into day. 
Under the circumstances, I might perhaps have told you 
that I did not wish you to go out without me, and re- 
quested you to make some sacrifice of your tastes to mine ; 
but, for various reasons, I thought it right that you should 
be free to decide for yourself in the matter. I have not 
quarreled with your decision ; but the case will be some- 
what altered if I am to understand that you expect me to 
station myself at the top of a staircase all night while you 
are dancing.” 

“ You know very well that I never said anything of the 
sort, Eustace,” returned Marcia, with tears of indignation 
in her eyes. “ I never thought of asking you to go to 
balls ; but I do think that if you would sometimes consent 
to dine out, you would be a little less — less morose and 
disagreeable than you are now,” 

“ For heaven’s sake ! ” exclaimed Mr. Brett irritably, 
“ let us avoid the use of uncivil adjectives. If your sug- 
gestion was prompted by a desire for my mental or physi- 
cal advantage, I am really very much obliged to you, 
though I doubt the efficacy of the means prescribed ; but 
what you said was that it was my duty to be seen with 
you.” 

“ I said some people might think so ; but it doesn’t 
matter. I suppose you will go your way and I shall go 
mine until the end of the chapter. Probably that is the 
best plan.” 

“ I confess,” said Mr. Brett, leaning back in his chair 
and folding his hands, “ that it appears to me to be the 
only practical plan.” 

Marcia left the room, vexed and disheartened, for she 
hated to be repulsed ; yet, underlying the mortification of 
which she was conscious, there was a certain unacknow- 
ledged feeling of relief. She had done her best — she was 
always doing her best ; she had made advances, and, as 
usual, they had been disdained. If, some day or other, 


MARCIA. 


35 


consequences should ensue which Eustace might not like, 
he would only have his own obstinate hostility to thank. 
She did not say this to herself, but the thought was in her 
heart all the same. 

On the landing at the top of the stairs she met a short, 
middle-aged lady in a flannel dressing-gown, who said 
apologetically, “ I am afraid we are very late to-night. 
The truth is that Willie set his heart upon seeing you when 
you came in, and nothing would induce him to go to 
sleep. So I have been reading to him.” 

This was Miss Wells, the governess to whom Willie’s 
education had been intrusted. She was a worthy, kind- 
hearted woman, devoted to her charge, who was devoted 
to her, but who tyrannized over her. Mr. Brett thought 
her a fool — as possibly she may have been — and Mrs. 
Brett loved her because she loved the boy, but was some- 
times a little jealous of her. Perhaps she was a little jeal- 
ous of her now, for she said — 

Oh, Miss Wells, you ought not to keep him awake so 
long. Of course, I can never tell whether I shall get home 
early or late.” 

He is fast asleep now,” Miss Wells answered. “ I 
tried him with Hans Andersen’s Fairy Tales ; but that was 
no use at all, so I fell back upon Russell’s ‘ History of 
Modern Europe,’ which I have seldom known to fail. He 
didn’t see you before you went out to night,” she added, 
by way of excusing herself and him. 

The excuse seemed to be considered sufficient ; for 
Marcia smiled and wished Miss Wells good-night without 
further remonstrance. She opened the door of her son’s 
room softly, and stole in, shading her bedroom candle 
with her hand. The boy had tossed the bedclothes off 
him ; he was lying with one arm under his head and the 
other outstretched by his side, the palm of the hand up- 
wards ; his closed eyes displayed to advantage the long 
dark lashes of which his mother was so proud ; his rounded 
cheeks had the faint flush which slumber brings in child- 
hood ; his parted lips were curved into the smile which 
seldom deserted them, whether he was awake or asleep. 
Willie Brett was now nine years old, and it was certain 
that he would have to be sent to school before long, though 
his mother could not bear to think of that. He was hardly 
to be called a pretty boy, nor was there much prospect of 


36 


MARCIA, 


his growing up into a handsome man ; nevertheless he had 
a charming face, and one person in the world, at least, 
was prepared to maintain against all comers that no con- 
ceivable change in him could partake of the nature of an 
improvement. 

Marcia stood gazing at him in rapt admiration for some 
minutes, and as she looked, she forgot all about the stern, 
unsympathetic student of law downstairs, all about the 
fascinating Mr. Archdale, and all about her numerous en- 
gagements for the morrow, which, as a general rule, claimed 
her last waking thoughts. She was quite sure that she did 
not really care for anything or anybody a tenth part as 
much as she did for her boy ; and it may be that she was 
not mistaken, for when one thinks of the person whom one 
loves best, it is customary and allowable to withdraw one- 
self from the competition. Well, she could not go to bed 
without giving Willie one kiss ; so she bent over him and 
just touched his warm cheek with her lips. That should 
not have been enough to disturb anybody’s slumbers ; but 
perhaps his were not very deep, for he stirred, stretched 
himself, yawned, and finally opened his eyes. He winked 
and blinked for a second or two ; then the smile upon his 
lips grew broader, he broke into a low laugh, and said, as 
if imparting a piece of information which might possibly 
astonish his hearer, “ I’ve been asleep.” 

“ Yes, and you must go to sleep again, dear,” his mother 
answered. “ It’s the middle of the night, and I didn’t 
mean to wake you. I am going away now.” 

“ Oh no, don’t go,” pleaded the boy, who had struggled 
into a sitting posture ; “ if you do, I shall lie awake for 
ever so long. Stay just five minutes and talk.” He added, 
after a brief scrutiny of her, “ How pretty you look ! ” 

“ Do you think so ? ” said Marcia, smiling back at him 
and letting her cloak fall from her shoulders, so as to show 
her diamonds. 

“ You are always pretty, Mummy,” answered the boy, 
“don’t you know you are? Come and sit down close 
beside me and tell me about the dinner. It was a dinner 
to-night, wasn’t it? ” 

Marcia nodded and did as she was requested, taking the 
boy’s warm hands in her own, which had grown a little 
chilly in the course of that interview with her husband. 

“ Nice people ? ” Willie inquired*. 


MARCIA, 


37 


Oh, pretty well — not particularly,” his mother replied. 
“ Yes, there was one whom I rather liked.” 

“ What was his name ?” asked the juvenile inquisitor; 
and it was a little significant that he was in no doubt as to 
the sex of the individual who had been so fortunate as to 
please his mother. 

“ He was a Mr. Archdale, an artist,” Marcia answered. 
“ Upon second thoughts, I’m not sure that I did like him 
so very much. I don’t often meet artists, so that he was 
a novelty ; but he hadn’t a great deal to say about art.” 

“Artists are rather muffs, aren’t they.?” suggested 
Willie. “ What did he say ? Did he tell you how pretty 
you looked ? ” 

No,” answered Marcia, laughing, “ he didn’t say any- 
thing so nice as that ;• it is only you who always say nice 
things, Willie. Oh dear ! I wish we could go away to 
some desert island just you and 1 — and never be heard of 
again.” 

“ I shouldn’t mind,” observed Willie, meditatively ; 
“ but I expect you would get tired of it after a bit. Oh 
yes, you would want new dresses, and — and new people to 
talk to, and all that.” 

“ I suppose I should,” agreed Marcia, sighing. “ Well, 
we mustn’t talk any more nonsense now. Good-night, my 
darling ! ” 

She threw her arms round the boy and kissed him again . 
and again. Then she held him at a little distance from her, 
looking into his eyes. There were tears in her own ; 
though she could not have explained the cause of them. 

“ Willlie,” she said, “ do you love, me best in the world 
— quite best.? ” 

“ Quite best,” Willie replied, unhesitatingly. 

“ Better than Miss Wells ? ” 

He laughed at the absurdity of the question. “ Oh, 
Miss Wells! She is an old dear; but she isn’t yotc^ 
Mummy.” 

Marcia smiled ; but her smile soon faded away. “ How 
dreadful it is,” she exclaimed, “to think that a day will 
come — must come — when you won’t love me best any 
longer! I shan’t be ‘Mummy’ then, and I shan’t be 
pretty ; I shall be ‘ Mother ’ and an ugly old woman, from 
whom you will conceal all sorts of things. It hasn’t come 
yet, though. Perhaps, after all, I may die before it 
comes.” 


38 


MARCIA. 


She left the room without waiting to hear Willie’s pro- 
testations. It is useless to protest against the immutable 
laws of human nature, and although we sometimes try to 
persuade ourselves that they may be suspended in our 
particular case, we always know in our hearts that they 
cannot be. 


CHAPTER V. 

MR. ARCHDALE IS SATISFIED. 

Cecil Archdale was frequently spoken of by his friends 
as the most fortunate man in England. They had reasons 
which seemed to be sufficient for calling him so, and he 
had, at any rate, one great advantage over the general run 
of fortunate men in that he fully recognized and appreciated 
the fact of his good fortune. All his life long he had had 
things very much his own way ; he had never wished for 
anything without getting it, so that he had come to regard 
immunit.y from disappointment as a sort of prerogative, and 
took it for granted that he would succeed in any enterprise 
which he might think it worth while to undertake. No 
doubt this happy self-confidence had contributed not a 
little to his unvarying success. Handsome, pleasant-man- 
nered, and always at his ease, he had readily made his way 
into the best society obtainable, wherever he had been ; 
he had been universally liked and a good deal loved ; as he 
had no near relations nor anybody’s convenience to consult, 
save his own, he had wandered over many foreign lands and 
had derived much amusement from his cosmoj^olitan expe- 
riences. It is true that he had habitually lived beyond his 
income, and that at the end of eight years he had very nearly 
exhausted the comfortable little fortune which he had 
inherited from his father ; but just as this was becoming a 
source of anxiety to him he had turned his artistic talents 
to account, and had achieved a reputation which would 
have astonished nobody more than himself, had he not felt 
persuaded that this was due rather to the influence of his 
lucky star than to his skill or industry. 

Nevertheless, he was skillful. He was also industrious, 
in the sense that he took great pains with his work and 


MARCIA. 


39 


brought exquisite accuracy to bear upon the finish of 
details ; but in no other sense. He was constitutionally 
indolent ; he hated to begin anything new, and his fellow- 
laborers produced, on an average, half-a-dozen pictures in 
the time that it took him to produce one. Very likely 
this deliberation may have enhanced the price and even the 
value of his handiwork ; but it was not for that reason that 
he spent so many hours contentedly in smoking cigarettes 
and doing nothing. He was very fond of doing nothing — 
fonder, perhaps, of that than of anything else in the world, 
except making love. The latter amusement is doubtless 
agreeable to the generality of mortals ; only for most of us 
its delights are considerably marred by reason of the un- 
certainties and anxieties by which it is beset. With such 
drawbacks the fortunate Cecil Archdale had no acquaint- 
ance. The women with whom he fell in love invariably 
fell in love with him, and what was better still was that 
his numerous philanderings never led to serious or painful 
consequences. “ These things die a natural death,” he was 
wont say. “ It seems a pity that they should ; but perhaps 
it would be a still greater pity if they didn’t. I can’t imagine 
a more awful fate than having to spend one’s life with a 
person whom one had once adored and couldn’t manage to 
adore any longer.” 

By good luck or good guidance, he had steered clear of 
any such fate. Moreover, he had steered clear of conceit 
or affectation ; and this was generally held to be creditable 
to him. If he believed himself to be irresistible, his belief 
had the support of a tolerably large experience. In truth 
he had little feeling of personal vanity in the matter ; only 
a deeply rooted conviction that it was not his destiny to 
love in vain. He was perfectly sincere when he told Lady 
Wetherby that he had fallen desperately in love with her 
friend Mrs. Brett ; he was also quite sure that a delicate 
betrayal of his sentiments to Mrs. Brett herself would do 
neither her nor him any harm. His passions were too 
ephemeral for any harm to come of them. What usually 
came of them was a pleasant interview or two, a few enjoy- 
able dances, perhaps the interchange of certain phrases 
which were not meant to be taken too literally, and then a 
gradual cooling off, brought aboat by tlie discovery of a 
substitute. 


40 


MARCIA. 


One afternoon, soon after Lady Wetherby’s dinner-party, 
he was reclining upon a divan in the comfortable chambers 
near St. James’ Street where he had set up his studio, and 
was expatiating to a friend of his upon the charms of the 
lady who had captivated him. 

“ It isn’t only that she is beautiful,’’ he was saying ; 
“ beauty isn’t really rare, and when all is said and done, 
it is never mere beauty of face or form that appeals to one. 
But Mrs. Brett is rare, distinctly rare. She is a woman of 
the world to her finger-tips ; and yet there is something 
about her, I don’t know how to describe it, a sort of inno- 
cent hardihood which makes one long to ” 

“ To kiss her ? ” suggested the friend. 

“ Drake, you are no better thaii the beasts that perish ! 
I wasn’t going to say anything of the sort ; I was going to 
say that it made one long to warn her how dangerous it is 
to be hardy, even though one may be as innocent as an 
infant. Most men — you, for instance — entirely misunder- 
stand such women.” 

“ I suppose you understand Mrs. Brett perfectly, don’t 
you?” 

“ Not at all ; I understand her very imperfectly as yet. 
But I have sense enough to understand that she is as good 
as she is charming, and that when she shows herself kindly 
disposed towards a humble artist it isn’t because she thinks 
it might amuse her to get up a flirtation with him.” 

“ In other words, it is because she has really fallen a 
victim to the fascinations of the humble artist. Well, I 
daresay she has : I have observed that they generally do. 
Poor Mr. Brett ! ” 

Archdale swung his legs off the sofa, faced his interlocutor 
and made an impatient gesture. “ I really don’t see why 
you should pity Mr. Brett,” he said. “ I have made some 
inquiries about him, and I have heard just what I expected 
to hear. He is a dry, solemn, cold-hearted old lawyer ; he 
neglects his wife, and he doesn’t care a little hang whether 
she is happy or miserable. If you imagine that I shall 
ever have the honor of causing him a moment’s anxiety, 
that is because you don’t know much about either him or 
me. But you are hopelessly material, Drake ; you haven’t 
a particle of romance or refinement in the whole of your 
great hulking carcase.” 


MARCIA. 


41 


The individual addressed did not appear to resent this 
uncomplimentary description of himself. He only laughed 
and said that people afflicted with hulking carcases could 
not be expected to be refined or romantic. He was a 
middle-aged man, tall, stout, and loosely built ; his hair 
was turning grey at the temples ; his moustache, it might 
be surmised, would also have been grey, had not artificial 
means been resorted to to obliterate the footprints of time. 
He looked good-natured, as indeed he was, and a practiced 
observer would have guessed that he was not vexed by any 
rigid code of morality. Alfred Drake had more friends 
than perhaps he deserved to have. He passed for. a good 
fellow and was not a very bad one ; though it was notice- 
able that those whom he chose for his friends were people 
who were likely to be of service to him in one way or 
another. Cecil Archdale, who had already been of some 
service to him, would, he hoped, be of service to him again. 
In fact, that was why he was now listening so patiently to 
the praises of a lady whom he neither knew nor was am- 
bitious of knowing. Byway of summing up the subject 
and changing it, he remarked presently : 

Well, I won’t pity Mr. Brett if you had rather I didn’t ; 
but I will make so bold as to congratulate you. It’s a fine 
thing to be the rising artist of the day, and it isn’t so bad 
to be young and gook-looking and rich. As for me, I am 
resigned to being rather old and rather ugly ; but I am 
not altogether resigned to being confoundedly poor. 
Therefore, my dear Archdale, I wish with all my heart that 
I were you.” 

“ Oh, I’m not rich,” said Archdale. 

^‘Are you rich enough to lend a couple of hundred to a 
distressed friend for a few weeks ? ” inquired the other 
smilingly. “If you are, the distressed one would sleep 
comfortably to-night, and would remember you in his 
prayers before turning in.” 

Perhaps it was because he obtained without any difficul- 
ty a sum which he had not the smallest prospect of being 
able to repay, that Mr. Drake felt bound to make some 
immediate return for what he had received. For obvious 
reasons, he could not present his generous friend with any- 
thing expensive, but he could bestow something valuable 
upon him, in the shape of excellent advice, and this he did 
not grudge. 


42 


MARCIA. 


“ Look here, Archdale,” said he, as he rose from his 
chair, “ if I were you Td drop these little games. You’ll 
burn your fingers some fine day, my boy. I daresay I’m 
coarse and material and all the rest of it ; but that’s just 
what circumstances very often are, and a precious awkward 
circumstance it will be for you to have a married woman 
rushing in here to tell you that she has quarrelled with 
her husband and come to throw herself upon your protec- 
tion.” 

“ Oh, go away ! ” exclaimed the young artist, laughing ; 
“ the only excuse for you is that you don’t know what you 
are talking about.” 

Mr. Drake, having obtained the object of his visit, went 
away willingly enough ; and shortly after his departure. 
Archdale, in no wise disturbed by the warning which had 
been addressed to him, sauntered out with the intention of 
leaving a card for Lady Wetherby. However, when he 
reached St. George’s Place, he did not content himself 
with ringing the bell and pushing his card inio the letter- 
box, after the unceremonious fashion affected by modern 
young men, but duly waited until the door was opened, and 
then asked whether Lady Wetherby was at home. Her 
ladyship, he was informed, was at home ; and presently 
he was received with the kindliness which her ladyship 
was accustomed to extend impartially to the just and to 
the unjust. He suspected that he was not altogether ap- 
proved of by Lady Wetherby ; but he felt sure that, by 
taking a little trouble, he could overcome any prejudice 
that she might have conceived against him, and he was de- 
sirous just now of securing her good opinion. Therefore 
he did not at once begin to talk about Mrs. Brett, but dis- 
cussed a number of other persons in whom he was not 
greatly interested, and found something pleasant to say 
about all of them ; so that eventually it was his hostess, 
not he, who introduced the subject upon which he wished 
for further information. 

“ I hope,” said she, “ that you didn’t believe what We- 
therby told you the other night ab6ut Marcia Brett. Of 
course you were only joking when you spoke of having 
fallen in love with her ; but it is better not to say such 
things even in joke, I think, and I was sorry afterwards 
that I had called her husband cantankerous. The poor 
man has been very unfortunate, and his misfortunes have 


Marcia. 


43 


soured him and he has bad health ; but 1 believe Marcia 
is just as fond of him now as she was when she married 
him.” 

“ And was she very fond of him then ? ” 

“ I don’t know what other reason she could have had 
for accepting him. She might easily have made a more 
brilliant match.” 

“ He doesn’t treat her over and above well, they say. 
But it’s no business of mine, and I won’t proclaim that I 
am in love with her again if you disapprove of it, Lady 
Wetherby. Still there is no objection to my cultivating 
her friendship, I presume.” 

Notwithstanding the pains at which he had been to con- 
ciliate her, this young man appeared to Lady Wetherby to 
be forward and rather ill-bred. She imagined that she was 
inflicting quite a severe rebuke upon him when she replied : 
“ I really don’t think that I have the right to object to any 
proceedings of yours, Mr. Archdale. I should require to 
know you much more intimately than I do before I could 
take such a liberty. I only did not wish you or anybody 
else to jump to mistaken conclusions about a very old 
friend of mine.” 

He rejoined, without a symptom of the shamefacedness 
which would have been becoming, “ I assure you I haven’t 
jumped to any conclusions at all about Mrs. Brett. As 
you say, one must kpow people intimately before one can 
venture upon such liberties ; but I suppose there is no 
harm in my wishing to know her more intimately.” 

Lady Wetherby was not so sure of that. However, she 
was precluded from giving utterance to her views by the 
entrance of Mrs. Brett herself, who was now announced, 
and who, after embracing her friend, shook hands very cor- 
dially with Mr. Archdale. 

Marcia was in excellent spirits that day. She was 
wearing a new frock which fitted her to perfection — always 
an exhilarating circumstance; she had just come from an 
afternoon assembly at which many pretty things had been 
said to her, and she had not seen her husband for twenty- 
four hours. She knew that she was looking her best, and 
very likely it was not displeasing to her that she should be 
studied under that aspect by an artist of discriminating 
taste. 


44 


MARCIA. 


However that may have been, slie did not give the dis- 
criminating artist much chance of conversing with her. 
She seemed to become oblivious of his presence after she 
had greeted him, and half turned her back upon him while 
she chatted with Lady Wetherby upon topics which scarce- 
ly afforded an excuse for intervention on the part of a 
male listener. What did he know about the size and shape 
of bonnets and the all-important question of whether it was 
or was not true that the Princess of Wales had set her face 
against the introduction of those which were being worn 
in Paris ? Nevertheless, he knew (for his eyes were sharp 
and his wits were quick) that Mrs. Brett’s attention was not 
so completely taken up with these matters as to render her 
unconscious of his admiring gaze. It was net until Lady 
Wetherby asked some casual question about Willie, that 
her manner suddenly changed and she appeared really to 
forget that there was a third person in the room. 

“ Oh, he is flourishing,” she said, “ he is always flourish- 
ing, I am thankful to say. Do you know what he did this 
morning? He actually went and jumped his pony over 
the railings in Regent’s Park, and a policeman came up 
and made a great fuss and had to be tipped. I don’t 
believe Willie knows what fear is ! ” 

“ Well, that is a very good thing,” said Lady Wetherby, 
good-humoredly ; “ but I should think he must be getting 
a little too much for Miss Wells, isn’t he ? When are you 
going to send him to school ? ” 

Marcia’s face fell. “Oh, I don’t know,” she answered ; 
“ please don’t talk about it. It will break my heart when 
they take him away from me.” 

“ It is a wrench, of course,” Lady Wetherby agreed ; 
“ but sooner or later it has to be faced. Our boy goes to 
a preparatory school in the autumn, and in two or three 
years he will be at Eton, I suppose. I hope you mean 
Willie to be an Etonian ? ” 

“ Yes,” answered Marcia, with a sigh, “ I believe that is 
decided upon. It isn’t so much the thought of Eton that 
I dread as of that horrid preparatory place. I wonder 
whether it is really necessary ! I often ask men about 
their boyhood, and they invariably tell me that they were 
happy when they went to a public school and miserable at 
the private one which came before it.” Then she abruptly 
wheeled round and appealed to Archdale. “ What was 
your experience ? ” she asked. 


MARCIA. 


45 


‘ Oh, I got on well enough at both schools, as far as I 
remember,” he replied. “ A little acquaintance with ad- 
versity isn’t a bad thing for a boy, Mrs. Brett ; though I 
daresay you’ll call me hard-hearted for saying so. Besides, 
if your boy has good health and is plucky, as you say he 
is, he’ll take care of himself.” 

And as, at this moment, two other visitors were an- 
nounced who drew off Lady Wetherby’s attention, he was 
able to pull his chair a little closer to Mrs. Brett’s and to 
inquire, “Are you so intensely devoted to this son of 
yours ? ” 

“ More than to everybody else in the world put together,” 
Marcia replied emphatically. “ He is everything to me 
and he always will be. But I shall not be everything to 
him when once he has left the nest, you see. That is 
really why I hate to think of his going to school. I am 
not afraid of his being bullied ; because I am sure he 
wouldn’t stand that.” 

Then,” said Archdale, with a laugh and a slight shrug 
of his shoulders, “ since the thing is as inevitable as death, 
and since you hate thinking about it, let us think about 
something else. Will you be present at Lady Hampstead’s 
pastoral play to-morrow by any chance?” 

“ Yes, I shall be there if it doesn’t rain,” answered 
Marcia. “ And you ? ” 

“ Oh, I shall be there, even if it does. I have been 
helping her with her arrangements and costumes and so 
forth, and I shall expect you to pat me on the back if the 
thing turns out a success.” 

“It is sure to be a success ; but shall I be allowed an 
opportunity of congratulating you ? Won’t you be con- 
cealed somewhere up a tree, directing the operations ? ” 

“ Very likely I shall ; I don’t quite know what is going 
to be done with me. But you won’t rush away the moment 
that the play is over, will you ? ” 

“ Not unless I am obliged. I shall have to be home in 
time to dress for dinner, though. And that reminds me 
that I ought to be at home now.” 

She gave him her hand once more and smiled pleasantly 
at him ; so that he left the house soon afterwards in a con- 
tented mood. The beautiful Mrs. Brett had not, it was 
true, displayed anything more than friendliness towards 
him; but as he was not an unreasonable man, he was 


46 


MARCIA. 


satisfied with that and with the prospect of meeting her 
again so soon. The only thing that had jarred a little upon 
him was the inordinate affection which she had professed 
for that embryo school-boy. It was quite right and proper 
that she should be fond of her child, since she had a child ; 
but he would have been better pleased if she had had 
none. He wanted to think of her as a woman who was 
thoroughly unhappy at home, and he did not want to think 
of her as cherishing an inordinate affection for any human 
being. 


CHAPTER VI. 

LADY Hampstead’s garden-party. 

It was Marcia’s habit to breakfast in her bed-room, and it 
was Mr. Brett’s habit to dispose of the first meal of the day 
in the dining-room, all by himself. The system is one 
which may safely be recommended to couples who are not 
in close sympathy with one another and which is not to be 
despised even by lovers ; for intercourse is always perilous 
at an hour when nine people out of ten feel both cross and 
stupid. However, Marcia always broke through her rule 
on Tuesday mornings, when the weekly bills came in, and 
when her husband, who insisted upon having the trades- 
men’s books submitted to him, was accustomed to hand 
her over the housekeeping money, sweetened by remarks 
upon the prodigality of the cook. The day following that 
treated of in the last chapter happened to be a Tuesday, 
and, as usual, she hastened downstairs to receive her 
cheque ; but, although the bills were somewhat higher than 
they ought to have been, Mr. Brett had no disagreeable 
comments to make upon that circumstance. She found 
him standing by his writing-table with his hat on, and as 
he held out the slip of paper which he had already signed, 
he said : — 

“ Isn’t it to-day that Lady Hampstead has a garden- 
party ? — a sort of out-door theatrical performance, or some- 
thing of that kind? ” 

“ Yes, it is to-day,” answered Marcia. “ You won’t 
come with me, of course.” 


MARCIA. 


47 . 

“ I lyill try to be at home in time to accompany you. 
If I am not, you need not wait for me ; but in all probability 
I shall be able to manage it.” 

She knew him well enough to know what this meant. 
He was one of the most conscientious of men ; he had 
been thinking over what she had said to him about his 
abstention from social gatherings, and he had come to the 
conclusion that there was something to be urged in favor 
of her view of her husband’s duties. Therefore he was now 
about to make a martyr of himself after a fashion which 
was especially distasteful to him. 

“ Please don’t come to Lady Hampstead’s on my 
aecount,” she said ; •“ you won’t enjoy yourself, and, if you 
will excuse my saying so, you may remain away without 
being missed. It is only at dinner parties that I am asked 
what has become of my husband : in the crowds nobody 
knows who is there and who isn’t.” 

But he answered in his cold, deliberate way, “ I think I 
ought sometimes to remind your friends that you are not 
yet a widow. My avocations will not allow me to frequent 
society regularly ; but I have it in my power to take a 
half-holiday occasionally, and I propose to take one this 
afternoon.” 

It cannot be said that she was particularly anxious for 
his escort — he had taught her to 'do without that — but she 
was willing to submit to it, and at the appointed hour he 
was waiting for her in the hall, with a flower in his button- 
hole and a new pair of gloves in his hand. 

Lady Hampstead, who owned a villa with extensive 
grounds in one of the suburbs of London, was the first to 
start a species of sylvan entertainment which has since 
become. fashionable. Of course it is not nearly as com- 
fortable to witness a drama in the open air as within four 
walls (where at least, if one is not free from draughts, one 
can keep one’s feet dry and hear something of what the 
actors are saying) ; still anything in the shape of a novelty 
is always welcome, and Royalty patronized Lady Hamp- 
stead, and her gardens were prettily laid out. Marcia, 
after a long, weary drive, in the course of which very few 
remarks were interchanged, was glad to find herself among 
a host of friends, and if she did not pay much attention to 
the performance which was being enacted before her, she 
admired the brightness and color of the whole scene, while 


MARCIA, 


48 

she was relieved to notice that Eustace had joined a knot 
of legal luminaries, who appeared to be entertaining him 
with that class of anecdote which appeals to the legal sense 
of humor and to nobody else’s. 

The representation was not so lengthy as had been 
apprehended by some of the audience or as the actors 
could have desired ; for Lady Hampstead, who was aware 
tliat when several hundred people meet, their main object 
is to talk to one another, had instructed her stage-manager 
to cut out as much dialogue as could possibly be dispensed 
with, and that gentleman, having reasons of his own for 
wishing to be expeditious, obeyed her faithfully. As soon 
as he could escape from the compliments which greeted 
him after the company had broken up into groups, he made 
his way towards Mrs. Brett and expressed a hope that she 
had not been very much bored. 

“ Of course I haven’t,” she answered smiling ; “ I don’t 
think I ever saw anything so pretty. Besides, it is almost 
impossible to‘ bore me.” 

He raised his eyebrows. “ What a delightful person you 
must be to live with ! ” he remarked. 

“ Oh, that is another matter ; what / meant was that any- 
thing in the shape of amusement is pretty sure to amuse 
me. At home I am occasionally morose. But then I am 
not very much at home at this time of year.” 

“ I think your tastes must be a good deal like mine,” 
said Archdale. “ It seems to me that life is a thing to be 
enjoyed so long as enjoyment is possible. When one isn’t 
enjoying oneself one is wasting invaluable hours which will 
never return.” 

“ Yes,” agreed Marcia meditatively ; “but the question 
is whether we ought not to find enjoyment in the family 
circle.” 

“ Oh, nobody ever can be happy merely because he 
thinks he ought to be happy. We can all do our duty, I 
suppose ; but no power, human or divine, can make us 
imagine it is more pleasant to do it than not. Individually, 
I find that I am never quite so happy as when I am doing 
something that is a little bit wrong ; not very wrong, you 
know, only slightly so.” He added, with the air of one 
who has suddenly made an interesting discovery : “ Do 
you know, I am rather happy at the present moment.” 

“ Well, you are doing nothing wrong at the present 


MARCIA. 


49 


moment,” returned Marcia, laughing somewhat nervously ; 
“it isn’t wrong to be talking to me, I hope.” 

He glanced at her and sighed and laughed also. “ I 
hope not,” he answered. 

Of course she understood what he did not say. That 
kind of thing had been said to her, or hinted at, many and 
many a time before, but it had never before, that she could 
remember, made her blush. She was annoyed with herself 
for blushing, and still more annoyed with him for keeping 
his eyes upon her face when he ought to have averted 
them. To show him that the phenomenon which he had 
witnessed was due to purely physical causes, and that it 
was not really in his power to disconcert her, she said, 
“ Why have you never been to call upon us, Mr. Archdale ? 
I wanted to introduce you to my husband, who, I am sure, 
would be glad to make your acquaintance.” 

Cecil Archdale was not quite a gentleman, though he 
was a very passable imitation of one. His reply was, “ I 
shall be only too delighted to call upon you ; but I’m afraid 
I can’t pretend that, when I do call, it will be for the plea- 
sure of making Mr. Brett’s acquaintance.” 

The atrocious bad taste of this speech did not offend 
Marcia ; she knew that her husband was not popular with 
other men, and she thought that his unpopularity was de- 
served. She said, “ Eustace is clever, and can be agree- 
able when he chooses. He doesn’t, as a rule, like my 
friends, because my friends, as a rule, are not clever 
people ; but I think he would like you, and possibly you 
might like him. Perhaps you would come and dine quietly 
with us some evening. Are you doing anything next Sun- 
day ? ” 

Archdale replied that he believed he had an engagement, 
but that he could easily get rid of it ; and while Marcia, 
was protesting that he must not think of throwing anybody 
over for the dull little gathering which was all that she 
could offer him, her husband came up behind and touched 
her elbow. 

“ Is it not time for us to be going? ” asked Mr. Brett, 
who had his watch in his hand. “ Don’t hurry away on 
my account, only I understood you to say that you wished 
to be at home soon after seven o’clock.” 

Marcia started, and, to her great vexation, found herself 
blushing again. “ I am quite ready,” she answered quickly. 

4 


MARCIA. 


S<5 

Then as Mr. Brett was turning on his heel, “ Eustace,^' 
she said, “ I want to introduce you to Mr. Archdale. Mr. 
Archdale has been kind enough to give me a half promise 
that he will dine with us on Sunday.” 

“ Oh, it was a whole promise,” the young artist de- 
clared ; “and it will certainly be kept.” 

Mr. Brett raised his hat and surveyed the stranger 
coldly. ‘‘ I am glad to hear that,” said he, without look- 
ing glad. “ I do not approve of Sunday dinner-parties 
because, in a small establishment like ours, I think the ser- 
vants should be allowed one day of rest in the week ; but 
I am told that they are unavoidable.” 

“ It won’t be a party, Eustace,” interrupted Marcia. 

Oh ! Still I presume that the servants will have to 
work as hard as if it were.” 

Marcia bit her lips and looked down, while Archdale, 
inwardly amused, wondered whether he ought to withdraw 
his acceptance of the invitation, and so relieve Mr. Brett's 
servants of a portion of their labor. But the latter gentle- 
man, who may have felt that he had been a little uncivil, 
resumed, “ Party or no party, we shall be very pleased to 
see you, Mr. Archdale, if you will honor us so far. I have 
been a humble admirer of your pictures for some time 
past.” 

There was an ironical inflection in his voice which did 
not escape Archdale, who answered good-humoredly 
enough, “ My pictures are anything but admirable, as I 
daresay you know. It really isn’t my fault if they are 
generally admired. I should have given up painting long 
ago but for the sordid consideration that I make my living 
by it.” 

“ That is a very good reason for persevering with your 
occupation,’’ observed Mr. Brett gravely. “ Not every 
man can be a genius, but every man can work for his living. 
Indeed,” he added, with a sigh, “ work is the only thing 
worth living for.” 

He was thinking of himself, not of his interlocutor, and 
was quite unconscious of having said anything rude ; but 
his words chanced to irritate both his wife and her friend, 
who exchanged a quick glance while he was speaking. 
Work the only thing worth living for ? — what a view to 
take of existence 1 


MARCIA. 


5 ' 


“ Is the carriage there ? ” asked Marcia, in a tone of im- 
patient resignation, with which her husband was only too 
familiar. “ If it is we may as well go now.” 

Mr. Brett extended a thin dry hand to the artist. “ We 
will expect you on Sunday, then,” said he. 

“ Thanks,” answered Archdale briefly ; and perhaps if 
he had been discreet or even well-bred, he would not have 
drawn Mrs. Brett aside a few paces and whispered laugh- 
ingly, “ It seems that I am not quite clever enough, and 
that I must be content to take my place amongst your 
other friends. Well, I don’t think I very much mind.” 

Marcia responded by a slight grimace, the meaning of 
which was open to various interpretations. Leaving Arch- 
dale to place what construction he might upon it, she 
walked quickly across the grass to say good-bye to her 
hostess, Mr. Brett following her at a slower pace. 

After she had seated herself in the victoria beside her 
husband, and was being driven back towards London, she 
remained silent for some little time, while he also was 
apparently preoccupied with his own reflections. But at 
ength, although she knew that it would have been much 
wiser to hold her peace, she could not help asking, Had 
you any particular reason for being rude to Mr. Archdale, 
Eustace 1 ” 

“ I am not aware of having been rude to him,” Mr. Brett 
replied tranquilly. “ In what way was I rude ? ” 

“ It is scarcely polite to tell a man he is not a genius.” 

“ Really, I think it would have been scarcely polite to 
tell him that he was ; if I had done that, he would surely 
have had sense enough to suspect me of laughing at him.” 

“ Oh, I doubt whether anybody would ever suspect you 
of laughing. Mr. Archdale may not be a genius, and he 
may know that he isn’t, but I don’t see what necessity 
there was for calling his attention to a fact which he hadn’t 
denied. I suppose you would think it a little rude of a 
stranger to tell you emphatically that you were not hand- 
some.” 

Mr. Brett winced perceptibly. Of course, he was not 
handsome, and perhaps at his age it would not have made 
much difference if he had been. Nevertheless she had hit 
him on the raw, and what made the cut smart more was 
that he felt sure it had been inflicted deliberately. It was 
not often that Marcia made such speeches, but when she 


52 


MARCIA. 


did, the effect was always to make him wish himself dead. 
But he answered, without apparent emotion — 

“ I am sorry if I inadvertently hurt your friend’s feel- 
ings ; I ought to have remembered that artists are apt to 
be sensitive. Naturally, I could have no motive for wish- 
ing to affront him, since I neither know nor care to know 
anything in the world about the man.” 

“ That means that you have taken a dislike to him. I 
wonder why ” 

“ I confess that he did not impress me favorably,” an- 
swered Mr. Brett, with deliberation. “ His manners did 
not strike me as those of a gentleman.” 

He only said what he thought — and for the matter of 
that, his impression was perfectly accurate — but Marcia 
not unnaturally imagined that he had selected intention- 
ally the kind of criticism which was most certain to annoy 
her. “ Different people have different ideas of what a 
gentleman’s manners ought to be, I suppose,” she re- 
joined. “ I should have thought that he might have com- 
plained of yours, and that you had not very much to com- 
plain of in his.” 

“ I am probably old-fashioned,” said her husband. 
“ When I was a child I was taught that it was bad man- 
ners to whisper ; but no doubt you have changed all that.” 

Marcia, having no adequate retort ready, threw herself 
back in the carriage and gazed at the misty landscape. It 
was beautiful summer weather ; but beautiful summer 
weather in the neighborhood of London usually implies a 
point or two of east in the wind and a consequent indistinct- 
ness of distant outlines. She was thinking to herself that 
she was very tired of London, and that everybody was more 
or less of a bore, and that her husband was the most dis- 
agreeable man of her acquaintance, and that she would like 
to go somewhere far, far away with Willie and begin a new 
life from which petty snappings and bickerings should be 
eliminated, when the harsh sound of Mr. Brett’s voice re- 
called her once more to actualities. 

For some time past,” said he, and he spoke as if what 
he had to say was a very ordinary matter, “ I have been 
making inquiries about a preparatory school for Willie, 
and I have now heard of one near Farnborough which 
seems to be satisfactory in all respects. Perhaps you will 
tell Miss Wells that her services will be no longer required, 


MARCIA, 


53 

although 1 shall be very glad for her to remain with us 
until she can find some fresh employment.” 

Marcia turned white. She had known that her boy must 
shortly be taken from her, but she had supposed that she 
would at least be consulted before any definite arrangement 
was made, and she had not imagined thaVyiVIr. Brett was 
interesting himself at all in tlie matter. ^ 

“ You might have told me before ! ” she exclaimed, 
catching her breath. And then with a slight air of relief, 
“ Of course, he can’t go to shool until the autumn now ? ” 
“ Well, yes,” resumed Mr. Brett ; “ it so chances that 
there is a vacancy at present, and I find that there will be 
no objection to his being received in about a fortnight’s 
time.” He added, for Marcia’s face of consternation 
touched him, though he did not appear to be touched: 
“ Believe me, it it is better for you and for him that the se- 
paration should be accomplished quickly. I can understand 
that it is painful for a mother to part with her only child ; 
nevertheless, what is right and necessary must be done, and 
the less hesitation there is about doing it the less suffering 
there will be. I am not sure whether you will take my 
word for it that I have conducted these negotiations pri- 
vately in order to spare you, but such is the fact.” 

“ You always show so much delicate consideration for 
my feelings that I haven’t the slightest difficulty about 
taking your word in this instance,” answered Marcia 
bitterly. 

He did not defend himself, nor indeed would it have been 
worth his while to attempt so hopeless a task ; for nothing 
could have shaken his wife’s conviction that he had acted 
as he had done out of sheer malignancy. She fully recog- 
nized that he was master, and that it was for him to decide 
how his son’s education should be conducted ; but it is 
only a very bad master who rules by cracking the whip, 
and if such a one fancies that he will be loved by his subor- 
dinates, he knows little of human nature. At that moment 
Marcia hated her husband ; and although it is possible that 
she may have hated him before, she had never before ad- 
mitted as much to herself. She had now, she thought, a 
good reason for hating him : it may be that she was not 
altogether sorry to be so equipped. 

However, she did not say much ; she was, in truth, too 
miserable to indulge in useless recriminations. Her chief 


54 


MARCIA, 


desire was to keep herself from crying; for she did not 
want the man to know liow much he had hurt her. But 
when she once had got rid of him, there was no reason why 
she should not cry to her heart’s content ; and even the 
fear of appearing at a dinner party with a red nose did not 
deter her from giving way to her emotions as soon as she 
was safely in her bed-room, with the door locked. And 
how could she leave the house without telling Willie the 
dreadful news ? It gave the poor woman a sharp pain at 
her heart to find that the news was not so very dreadful 
to Willie, after all. He was a little startled when he heard 
how soon he was to be launched forth into the world and 
left to fight his own battles ; but he did not much mind 
going to school — all boys went to school. * 

“ And I shall come home for the holidays, you know,” 
he added consolingly ; for he seemed to have a precocious 
comprehension of the fact that his mother was one who 
rather stood in need of protection than was capable of 
affording it. 

He did not, and could not, understand the kind of pro- 
tection which she required, but possibly she did ; for she 
exclaimed in accents of despair, “ Yes, you will come back, 
my own dear ! But you will not be the same again, it isn’t 
possible ! And, when I get home at night and your room 
is empty, and my boy is gone from me for ever, I don’t 
know — oh, I don’t know what will become of me I ” 


CHAPTER VII. 

A SUNDAY DINNER-PARTY. 

Miserable though Marcia was when she thought of the 
bereavement which was about to be inflicted upon her, she 
pursued her daily round of so-called pleasures with a coun- 
tenance which betrayed little or nothing of her inward 
sadness. To conceal our feelings is a lesson which most 
of us learn early in life, and she had learnt it, notwithstand- 
ing her small natural aptitudes in that direction. Moreover, 
she could not and did not expect any sympathy from those 
about her. Even Miss Wells, after wiping away a tear, 


MARCIA. 


55 


was fain to confess that it was high time for Willie to be 
placed under stricter discipline than she was able to enforce. 
“ He is a dear boy,” she said, “ and it breaks my heart to 
leave him ; but the truth is, Mrs. Brett, that he is growing 
too big to be controlled by women. Men are our natural 
masters, and they know it, and a boy of nine is a little man 
— that is, if he is worth anything. You need not be afraid 
about him ; he is brave and honest, and if he earns a few 
whippings, as I daresay he will, he has sense of justice 
enough to submit to them, and be all the better for them.” 

All this was very true and very sensible ; but it did not 
console Marcia, who was quite aware that her son was at 
least as capable as other women’s sons of finding his own 
level. What weighed upon her heart day and night like a 
load of lead was the knowledge that henceforth she must 
be utterly lonely. Neither Miss Wells nor Eustace, nor 
anybody else, would have understood why Willie’s impend- 
ing departure should make her dread the future ; she her- 
self only understood it, after a vague sort of fashion ; but 
the dread was none the less real, because it could not be 
talked about, and was not susceptible of strict definition. 

Two days ‘after Lady Hampstead’s garden-party, her 
husband, said to her : “ I have asked George and Caroline 
to dine with us on Sunday. As your friend Mr. Archdale 
is to come, two additional guests will not entail much extra 
trouble. I don’t know whether you h.ave invited anybody 
else.” 

Marcia shook her head. “ I thought you objected to 
Sunday dinner-parties,” she answered, “and it is too late 
now to look out for some kindred spirits to meet George and 
Caroline. How they will enjoy themselves ! — and how we 
shall enjoy having them ! ” 

“ Strange as it may appear to you,” said Mr. Brett, “ it 
is a pleasure to me to see my brother and his wife from 
time to time. They do not, of course, belong to your set, 
and naturally their company is not agreeable to you. How- 
ever, you will be able to talk to the artist, who does, I 
suppose, belong more or less to your set. As we shall be 
an uneven number, perhaps you might request Miss Wells 
to join us at dinner.” 

“Oh, by all means,” answered Marcia. “It is rather 
hard upon poor Miss AVells ; but, fortunately she has an 
inexhaustible supply of patience and good nature,” 


56 


MARCIA, 


Marcia’s own supply of those excellent qualities was not 
inexhaustible, and her sister-in-law had long ago reached 
the end of it. Lady Brett (the banker had, for some reason 
which may have been as good as another, received the 
honor of knighthood) was a devout woman, whose liberality 
and charity had earned renown for her in certain circles, 
and who, like some other devout persons, was liberal and 
charitable in a pecuniary sense only. She was sorry for 
poor Eustace, and had an exasperating way of showing 
how sorry she was for him. Of his wife’s conduct she was 
unable to approve, nor had her conscience permitted her 
to refrain from expressing disapproval thereof. Conse- 
quently, there had been family dissensions, followed by half- 
hearted reconciliations and a prolonged period of armed 
truce. As for Sir George, he was sorry for his brother, 
as successful men are apt to be for those who have not 
proved successful in life. To end one’s days as a mere 
Police-magistrate, when one might hav'e been a wealthy 
banker, is doubtless a melancholy result of wilfulness ; but 
Sir George was very magnanimous about it, never remind- 
ing Eustace of bygone prophecies which had been justified 
by events, and endeavoring to conceal the contempt which 
he could not help feeling for a broken-down aspirant to 
high honors. Of the two. Marcia infinitely preferred Sir 
George. He was purse-proud, overbearing, and, with regard 
to any subject unconnected with business, ludicrously 
ignorant and stupid ; but at least he was not malevolent. 
Caroline, on the other hand, had the sour spitefulness 
which is not uncommon among rich women who have no 
children and who have failed to make their way into society. 
Caroline affected to rail at society, and, in so far as she 
was able, kept a watchful eye upon her sister-in-law’s pro- 
ceedings. It was this, more than anything else, that made 
Marcia hate a lady whom her husband respected, or pre- 
tended to respect \ and certain previous experiences caused 
her to believe that Lady Brett had been asked to dinner 
for the especial purpose of keeping a watchful eye upon 
the proceedings of Mr. Archdale. 

Now, although she was quite wrong there, for her husband 
would as soon thought of opening her letters or looking 
through the keyhole of her door as of setting anybody to 
spy upon her, she was not mistaken in imagining that it 
was Lady Brett’s intention to study the handsome artist 


MARCIA. 


57 


carefully. Through some channel or other — Heaven only 
knows how women manage to hear of these things, but 
they always do hear of them — Lady Brett had received 
information to the effect that Mr. Archdale had been some- 
what marked in his attentions to Marcia, and if there was 
anything of which Lady Brett was as sure as slie was of 
deaih and of her own ultimate translation to a higher 
sphere* it was that sooner or later Marcia’s flirtations would 
have a tragic end. That being so, it might have seemed 
to a person of logical mind a waste of labor to fight against 
the inevitable ; but Lady Brett thought that one should 
alway do one’s duty, however little chance there might be 
of earning a temporal reward thereby. And indeed it was 
on that account that she was dining with her brother-in law 
on Sunday, notwithstanding the many good reasons which 
she had for withholding her countenance from any dese- 
cration of the day of rest. 

Not being predisposed in Archdale’s favor, the good lady 
thought it just like his impertinence to be half an hour late 
and to offer no apology for having kept his seniors waiting. 
•w^When he was presented to her, she made herself agreeable 
\by - renvirking, “ If you had been dining with me, Mr. 
Archdale, I should have given up all hope of you some 
time ago.” 

To which he replied imperturbably, “ Oh ! do you go in 
for punctuality ? Well, if you ever do honor me with an 
invitation to dinner. I’ll bear it in mind.” 

He could not understand why he had been asked to 
meet these people, and he was not a little disappointed 
when he found that nobody else was expected. Surely 
Mrs. Brett could not have supposed that it would amuse 
him to take part in the general conversation ; yet she must 
have known that with only six people assembled round the 
dinner-table it would be impossible for him to talk to her 
privately. However, he was placed on her right hand, 
and if he was precluded from talking to her as he could 
have wished to talk, he did not at least feel bound to talk 
to anybody else. Miss Wells ate her dinner and forgave 
him ; for Miss Wells, who was over fifty years of age, pre- 
ferred a good dinner to any intellectual treat which this 
young disciple of Meissonier might have been able to afford 
her. Moreover, the dinner was excellent, and Marcia 
was charming. She very soon gave him to understand 


58 


MARCIA. 


that the company was not of her choosing ; from time to 
time she made some remark to him in an undertone which 
caused him to feel that he already stood upon the footing 
of an intimate friend, and she favored him with a slight 
grimace while Sir George Brett, with slow and pompous 
utterance, discussed the various schools of painting of the 
epoch. 

Sir George, whose absolute ignorance of art was accom- 
panied by the courage which traditionally belongs thereto, 
said some marvelously foolish things, but said them with 
such perfect and evident self-satisfaction that nobody pos- 
sessed of the faintest sense of humor could have felt annoyed 
with him for being a fool. Unlike his wife, he saw no 
reason to snub a budding celebrity, and even went so far 
as to hint that he had still room for a picture or two in his 
country house. “ Not very big ones ; but yours -are never 
very big, are they, Mr. Archdale ? ” 

“ They would be, if it were the custom to pay us by the 
piece,” answered Archdale ; “ but as that system hasn’t 
been adopted yet, I stick to small canvases and large 
frames.” 

“ Yes, yes ; a small canvas will hold a good many 
figures, and so will a small cheque,” laughed this Maecenas 
of a banker, with an encouraging nod, while Lady Brett, 
from the other end of the table, remarked dryly that the 
cost of a picture is not necessarily a criterion of its merit. 

All this was disagreeable enough to Marcia, who made' 
such amends to her guest as it was in her power to make. 
These he appeared to find satisfactory, and it did not inter- 
fere with his comfort in any way to be aware that on the 
opposite side of the table was seated a plain featured, 
middle-aged woman who was staring at him with an un- 
friendly airj and straining her ears in vain to catch his 
whispered words. By his way of thinking, ugly old women 
were simple nonentities. What could it possibly signify 
whether they liked or disliked you ? It was sufficient for 
him that a young and beautiful woman was exerting herself 
to please him, and what gave him a much more severe snub 
than Lady Brett could ever have inflicted upon him was 
that when Willie appeared, together with the dessert, the 
young and beautiful woman seemed suddenly to lose all 
consciousness of his vicinity. 

The brat (it was thus that Archdale mentally stigmatized 
this intruder) was kissed by his aunt, and surreptitiously 


MAI^C/A. 


59 


wiped off the trace of the salute with his sleeve while 
making his way round the table to his mother’s side. Then 
Sir George, who had had as much champagne as is required 
to promote good-humored jocularity, caught him by the 
ear, and said, ‘‘ Well, young man, so they’re going to chuck 
you down into the bear-pit, I hear. High time, too ! If 
you haven’t learnt how to use your fists yet, the sooner 
you learn the better.” 

Willie smiled shyly and slipped away without answering. 
He knew instinctively (as boys always do) that this loud- 
voiced uncle of his did not belong to the fighting variety 
of the human species, and he did not care to protest that 
he was ready for any future conflicts which might be in 
store for him. 

But Marcia’s cheeks reddened and her eyes sparkled ; 
for her brother-in-law’s speech seemed to her cruel and 
brutal. 

Schools are not bear-pits,” she said. 

“Ain’t they though!” returned Sir George, laughing. 
“Well, I can’t say what they may be nowadays; but I 
know what they were in my time. Tossed in a blanket 
till you knocked your head and knees against the ceiling, 
and kicked round the playground till you were black and 
blue all over — eh, Eustace? ” 

“ I do not remember to have passed through any such 
experiences,” answered Mr. Brett, in his matter-of-fact 
way. 

“ Oh 1 you don’t, don’t you ? ” returned his brother, 
slightly disconcerted. “ But then your memory is failing 
you, my dear fellow I I’ve noticed that in many things. / 
remember passing through plenty of experiences of that 
kind — and worse ones too.” 

“ How you must have howled for mercy ! ” remarked 
Marcia. Then, fearing lest she should be betrayed into 
saying something unpardonable, she made a hurried signal 
to her sister-in-law and left the room. 

Miss Wells slipped quietly away to the schoolroom. 
Miss Wells passed for being a simple creature — and so, 
perhaps, she was — yet her simplicity was not so great but 
that she could perceive the imminence of a row, and at 
her time of life she preferred to keep out of rows, when 
that could be managed. Her evasion was not commented 
upon. The two sisters-in-law seated themselves side by 


6o 


MARCIA, 


side in the drawing-room and prepared for that conflict 
which was renewed as often as they met, and in which the 
advantage remained sometimes with one side, sometimes 
with the other. On the present occasion, Lady Brett had 
more than one weapon ready to her hand, and she picked 
up the first with manifest satisfaction. 

“ I am so glad,” said she, “ that Eustace has made up his 
mind to send Willie to school. Undoubtedly it is the 
right thing to do.” 

“ Has anybody suggested that it was the wrong thing to 
do ? ” inquired Marcia. 

“ Oh, that of course I don’t know. I was afraid that 
you might be opposed to it — which we should all have 
been sorry for. Children, I think, ought not to be looked 
upon as mere playthings. It is very necessary to remem- 
ber that in a few years they will be men and women, and 
that their future must depend to a great extent upon their 
early training.” 

“ How funny it is,” remarked Marcia sweetly, “ that the 
people who have no children of their own always know so 
very well in what way other people’s children ought to be 
brought up.” 

A slow flush mounted into Lady Brett’s sallow cheeks. 
“I do not pretend to be an authority upon such subjects,” 
she returned ; “ but I have eyes and ears, and I do not 
require to be a mother in order to understand that the 
social atmosphere of this house is not the most wholesome 
in the world for a growing boy.” 

“ You are very flattering, Caroline. I didn’t know that 
this was an immoral household ; but since you say so, no 
doubt it is so ; for you are never wrong. I myself have a 
tolerably clear conscience ; but I can’t answer for Eustace, 
because I never question him as to how he spends his 
time. Of what particular sin do you suspect him ? ” 

“ If all men were as good Christians and as good hus- 
bands as Eustace,” returned the other, who was but an 
indifferent fencer, “ the world would be better and happier 
than* it is. As you know, I said nothing about immo- 
rality, nor should I think of using such a word unless I 
had convincing proof — but no matter ! Feeling as I do 
about the sanctity of the marriage-tie, I must and do feel 
that it would be a sad pity if Willie were tempted to think 
lightly of it at an impressionable age — that is all.” 


MARCIA. 


6t 


Marcia, after the fashion of women, lost her temper at 
the very moment when she might have routed her adver- 
sary by keeping it. “ You are vulgar and insulting, Caro- 
line ! ” she exclaimed ; “ it is your nature to be so, I s'up- 
pose. Yet I should have thought that even you might 
have had more human feeling than to imagine that any 
mother would teach such a lesson to her son ! ” 

“ Oh, my dear, I am sure you would not teach such a 
lesson intentionally,’’ Lady Brett replied, delighted at the 
success of her thrust ; “ but, fortunately or unfortunately, 
example is always a more powerful instructor than pre- 
cept. I should not in the least mind you calling me vul- 
gar if I could open your eyes to what everybody else sees, 
and what Willie, amongst the rest, cannot help seeing. 
Flirtation may seem to you an innocent thing — I am will- 
ing, for the sake of argument, to admit that it does — but 
it does not seem so to other people, and when you are per- 
petually inviting young men, such as Mr. Archdale, for 

instance, to your house ” 

“ I have never flirted in any way whatsoever with Mr. 
Archdale,” interrupted Marcia indignantly. “ It is your 
own horrid imagination that always makes you suspect evil 
where none exists. I can’t cure you of the disease from 
which you suffer, and I don’t mean to try ; but this I can 
tell you, Caroline, you may spare yourself the trouble of 
interfering with me, for it isn’t the fear of my being blamed 
by you that will make me give up any friend of mine ! ” 
Lady Brett closed her eyes, shook her head slowly, and 
smiled. This was what she usually did when at a loss for 
a retort, and certainly no retort could have been more 
effective. By the time that the men came in from the 
dining-room, the two ladies had exchanged some bitter 
speeches, and one of them was in a thoroughly reckless 
temper. Partly upon the principle that one may as well 
be hanged for a sheep as for a lamb, partly because she 
wished to scandalize her husband’s censorious relatives, 
and partly because she felt that Archdale was the only 
individual present from whom she could hope for either 
kindness or justice, Marcia at once devoted herself to the 
young artist, whom she led away into a corner, and who 
was only too glad to be given an opportunity of conver- 
sing with her apart. 


62 


MARCIA, 


Nevertheless, he did not, apparently, take much advan- 
tage of this privilege, and Lady Brett, if she had heard 
what he was saying, might possibly have been a little dis- 
appointed. His talk was chiefly of the foreign lands in 
which he had sojourned ; he spoke with enthusiasm of 
Italy, and especially of Venice, which he declared to be 
the most enchanting spot in the whole world. “ That is, 
supposing that one can be there with the companion of 
one’s choice. Of course, all places depend more or less 
upon the company in which one visits them.” 

I was there with my husband,” remarked Marcia. 
“ He was ill at the time, and it rained every day. I can’t 
say that I have a very pleasant recollection of the place.” 

“Oh, if it rained, and if — well, I dare say Venice 
wouldn’t suit Mr. Brett particularly well.” 

“ No place suits Eustace, except London. And London 
for him doesn’t mean the London that I live in.” 

“And like?” 

“ I am not quite sure. Sometimes I think that I like it 
and sometimes I feel as if I would give anything to get 
away from it and never see it again. As you say, all de- 
pends upon the company that one is in, and though there 
are plenty of nice people in London, there are a good many 
horrid ones too.” 

It was not necessary for her to specify the horrid people. 
He could guess that some of them were not very far away 
at that moment, nor was he contradicted when he observed 
that one’s relations, generally speaking, were apt to be 
horrid. And, if he did not tell her in so many words that 
she was the person of all others with whom it would be a 
delight to him to float across the smooth, sunny lagoons of 
the Adriatic, she understood well enough what he refrained 
from saying, and the vision which he conjured up before 
her mind’s eye was not displeasing to her. It was never 
displeasing to Marcia to be appreciated ; perhaps that is 
never displeasing to anybody. 

Eustace Brett was appreciated by his sister-in-law — or, 
at any rate, she assured him that he was. She said she 
often felt so very sorry for him. “ I know how you must 
hate the life of perpetual racket which Marcia enjoys, and 
I know your health is not in a state to stand it. Sometimes 
I think that you are almost too indulgent a husband, 
Eustace.” 


MARCIA, 


63 


She was a stupid woman, and she did not in the least 
comprehend the character of the man to whom she was 
speaking. Yet, offensive as any strictures upon his wife 
were to him, and little as he was disposed to encourage 
them, they influenced him in some degree. 

“ The perpetual racket does not affect me,” he answered 
coldly ; “ for I take no part in it. It is natural that Marcia, 
at her age, should find pleasure in amusements which have 
ceased to give pleasure to a man of mine.” 

But in his heart he thought, as he had always thought, 
that a good wife will like what her husband likes, and it 
vexed him to know that disinterested on-lookers did not 
consider Marcia’s conduct to be that of a good wife. 

Lady Brett, in no wise discouraged, continued to condole 
with him until her carriage was announced, when she woke 
up Sir George, who had dropped asleep over the Observer. 
It was a mere accident that Marcia, whose back was turned, 
did not notice the rustle of her sister-in-law’s dress, and 
that her husband had to cross the room in order to call her 
attention to the fact that her guests were waiting to take 
leave of her ; but the effect was to make her appear as 
though she had forgotten the presence of any guest save 
Mr. Archdale. 

“So sorry to interrupt you, dear,” Lady Brett said; 
“ but I won’t keep you a moment. Good-night.” 

Then kisses were exchanged, and as Mr. Brett, in his 
old-fashioned way, offered his arm to Caroline to escort her 
downstairs. Archdale took occasion to remark smilingly, 
“ I’m afraid your relatives don’t think much of me, Mrs. 
Brett.” 

“ Oh, if you are a friend of mine, that is quite enough to 
make them hate you,” answered Marcia, impatiently. 
“ Perhaps you had better go away now. I am going to be 
lectured for not having been sufficiently civil to them ; 
though, Heaven knows ! I did my best.” 


64 


MARCIA. 


CHAPTER VIIL 

WILLIE STARTS IN LIFE. 

From the evening when he had dined in Cornwall Terrace 
Archdale allowed no chance of meeting Mrs. Brett to 
escape him — which is as much as to say that he met her at 
least once in every twenty-four hours. He found out what 
her engagements were by the simple and direct process of 
asking her ; and the rest was easy enough, for he had a large 
acquaintance. Moreover, he was something of a celebrity, 
so that there was no great trouble about obtaining invita- 
tions from people whom he did not happen to know. Her 
face, he noticed, always brightened when he approached her, 
he had had experience enough to recognize and understand 
certain symptoms which were perceptible in her speech and 
manner, and he felt pretty sure that he was on the high 
road towards success. That there was anything dishonor- 
able, ungenerous or unworthy of a gentleman in the kind 
of success that he coveted never occurred to him for a mo- 
ment. He saw no harm in such philandering ; he did not 
believe in anybody’s constancy, least of all in his own, and 
he foresaw without much distress of mind the inevitable 
day when his dear Mrs. Brett would grow tired of him — 
always supposing that he did not first tire of her. Mean- 
while it was delightful to sit with her on staircases or in 
secluded recesses, to watch the play of her features and to 
divine her thoughts. 

Probably, if it had been in his po^/er to divine those 
thoughts accurately, some quarters of an hour of morti- 
fication would have fallen to his lot. He would have 
discovered that Marcia was greatly taken with him, and 
liked him better the more she saw of him ; but he would 
likewise have discovered that he did not by any means 
occupy the first place in her mind or heart at the time. 
The truth was that while she was listening, with a smile 
upon her lips, to the pretty things which he knew so well 
how to whisper, she was more often than not counting the 


MAX C/A. 


65 


days which still remained to her before the arrival of a date 
which seemed to bar the perspective of the future as a 
thundercloud blots out a landscape, and if by taking a final 
farewell of Mr. Archdale she could have gained the privi- 
lege of keeping Willie with her for another six months, Mr. 
Archdale would doubtless have been dismissed to form 
attachments elsewhere without hesitation. 

But Fate offers no such bargains to hapless mortals, and 
in due course the dreaded morning came when Willie’s 
portmanteau was packed and when his mother, issuing from 
her bed-room. (where she always breakfasted), found him 
waiting for her in the hall with Mr. Brett, who was for once 
absenting himself from his magisterial duties. Marcia had 
hoped that he would delegate to her the task of conducting 
her boy to Farnborough ; but he had informed her on the 
previous evening that he proposed to accompany them. 
There were one or two points which he had omitted to 
mention to the head-master on the occasion of his former 
visit, he said. So there he was, with his hat on his head 
and his watch in his hand, and although the only words 
that he uttered were “ Good-morning,” his face added as 
plainly as possible, “ For goodness’ sake make haste, and 
whatever you do, try to exercise a little self-control for the 
present ! Surely it cannot be necessary to begin crying 
already.” 

But Marcia could not keep the tears out of her eyes, nor 
could she trust herself to speak. It was easy enough for 
Miss Wells to put a brave face upon this parting, she 
thought, rather unjustly ; what did Miss Wells care ? 
Miss Wells was, no doubt, sorry to lose her pupil, possibly 
also to lose her situation ; but that was a very different 
thing from the loss — the irreparable loss — which the boy’s 
mother was about to incur. Nobody understood, nobody 
could understand her misery — unless it might be, in some 
faint degree, Willie himself. 

Whatever may have been the limits of Willie’s compre- 
hension, they were probably somewhat wider than his 
elders imagined them to be, and his mother’s character 
(which so little resembled his own) was in many respects 
no mystery to him. 

On the way to the station he comforted her with 
reassuring glances and smiles, while Mr. Brett consulted 
his watch, and fidgeted, and called out to the coachman to 

5 


66 


MARCIA. 


drive faster. Some men, it is said, can go under fire for 
the first time without experiencing any nervous disturb- 
ance, whereas most of us feel pretty sure that we should 
be a good deal frightened under such circumstances, 
though we may be permitted to hope that we should not 
disgrace ourselves. The soldier who does not know what 
fear is, and the boy w:ho on leaving home for his first 
school is free from an inward sinking of the heart, are 
perhaps enviable persons ; but there seems to be no parti- 
cular reason why they should be admired. Willie Brett, 
in whose small body there was courage enough to meet all 
emergencies, did not belong to the above exceptional class, 
so that it was a little hard upon him to have to keep up 
somebody else’s spirits as well as his own. However, he 
did his best ; and if he could not manage to talk quite as 
much as usual, that was of the less consequence because 
Marcia was incapable of responding. 

The journey could not be anything but a miserable one : 
happily it did not last very long. Mr. Brett read the papers 
and cleared his voice from time to time (he had a way of 
clearing his voice at frequent intervals which always 
irritated his wife’s nerves) ; Marcia gazed out of the 
window with sad eyes which saw nothing ; and Willie, 
sitting silent in a corner of the railway carriage, with one 
leg tucked under him, revolved many thoughts in an active 
mind. Then came the drive to the school and the recep- 
tion by the head-master, a brisk, athletic-looking clergyman, 
whose manners had not the good fortune to please 
Marcia. 

“ Oh, we won’t eat the young gentleman up, Mrs. Brett,” 
said he, with a good-humored and compassionate apprecia- 
tion of the maternal misgivings which his practiced eye at 
once detected ; “ he’ll soon make friends with the boys, 
and if he doesn’t make friends with us masters it shall not 
be our fault, I promise you. Would you like to take a 
look round the play ground and the schoolrooms ? No? 
Well, if you want to catch the next up-train, you haven’t a 
great deal of time to spare^ I’m afraid. Pocket-money? 
Well, no ; we don’t think it desirable to make distinctions 
between the boys in that matter. We give them sixpence 
a week each — subject to deductions for misconduct, from 
which I hope that my friend here won’t suffer.” 

Marcia sighed and replaced her sovereign in her purse, 
while Mr. Brett remarked gravely, “ I think sixpence a 


MARCIA, 


67 


week should be ample.” He never disputed his wife’s 
right to dispose of her money as she might see fit ; but he 
had a strong opinion that Willie ought not to be brought 
up as the son of a rich man. He withdrew a few paces in 
order to inform the schoolmaster of his wishes with regard 
to certain matters of detail, and so came that dreadful 
moment of leave-taking which it is’ cruel to prolong. 

Well, there was not much to be said, and the poor little 
man needed all his fortitude when he felt his mother’s 
warm tears dropping on to his cheeks. She squeezed a 
small parcel into his hand — it was a miniature of herself 
which she had had taken a short time before, and which 
represented her as the beautiful woman that she was. 
“Good-bye, my darling!” she whispered; “you won’t 
forget me, will you? I shall always be thinking about 
you — always I I don’t know how I shall live without you ; 
but I don’t want you to be miserable ; I want you to be 
happy. And Willie, if you ever — if you ever — ” she had 
to stop for a moment and choke down her sobs. “ If you 
ever do anything wrong,” she resumed presently, “ you 
mustn’t be afraid of me, because I’m not good either, and 
I shall understand — and — and — I love you so I ” 

Poor soul ! her parting gift and her parting words were 
characteristic enough. They got her out of the house 
somehow, and when she regained some command over her 
senses she was seated in the fly beside the cold, matter-of- 
fact man whom she had once promised to love, honor and 
obey — a ridiculous engagement, surely, to demand from 
frail human nature. 

But Mr. Brett was not quite as unsympathetic as he 
looked. He certainly thought that his wife had made a 
rather ridiculous exhibition of herself ; but the scene was 
over now and it had been no worse than he had anticipated, 
and he was anxious to say something consoling to her if he 
could. 

‘‘ You must not take this so much to heart, Marcia,” he 
began : “ it is a great deal better for Willie to be with boys 
than to be kept at home, you may be sure. It is not as 
though he were weakly and disinclined to play cricket. If 
he were, that would be another matter, no doubt.” 

“ Oh, he will be happy after the first day or two,” 
answered Marcia from behind her handkerchief. “ It is 
just because I know that he is going to enjoy himself and 
have a jolly life that I am so wretched.” 


68 


MARCIA, 


Mr. Brett felt constrained to observe, “ That is rather a 
selfish sort of love, isn’t it ? ” 

“ All love is selfish.” 

“ I think not, Marcia ; I hope not. It seems to me, on 
the contrary, that love, if it be sincere, must of necessity 
be unselfish. When we really love we forget ourselves and 
our own wishes ” 

Marcia drowned the remainder of his sentence with an 
impatient laugh, broken by a sob. “ One has heard all 
that ! ” she cried ; “ the copy-books informed us of it in 
our childhood. Why don’t you offer me a few more plati- 
tudes ? ‘ Be virtuous and you will be happy,’ or something 

of that kind. You can be virtuous without being happy, 
and, what is more, you can be happy without being 
virtuous. All the copy-books that were ever compiled 
can’t turn the world into a Paradise or do away with facts 
which stare everybody in the face.” 

Mr. Brett sighed. “ 1 speak of what I myself experience 
and have experienced,” he said. “ I suppose we all judge 
of others by ourselves, and I doubt whether we make any 
great mistake in doing so.” 

“ Of, if we start by knowing something about ourselves 
— however, I daresay you know a good deal about your- 
self. Only don’t you think you may be making a little 
mistake in imagining that you ever loved anybody? I 
don’t deny that you are capable of a good, steady, well- 
regulated affection for those who deserve it ; but you 
couldn’t feel much love for a sinner, could you ? You 
would think that quite wrong.” 

He was hurt and aggrieved ; but he made allowance for 
her. He perceived that she was so sore and so sensitive 
that, like a wounded animal, she could not help turning 
upon any one who tried to relieve her sufferings. “ Well, 
well,” he said, “ we won’t dispute about me and my capa- 
bilities ; I am not very important one way or the other. 
Still there are many ways of loving, Marcia.” 

“ Oh, what nonsense ! ” she returned, in the voice of an 
angry child : “ there is one way and only one. If you 
don’t understand what that is, so much the better for you ! 
Please, leave me alone, Eustace. By-and-bye I shall be 
able to conduct myself like a civilized, heartless being ; 
just now I really am not fit to be spoken to.” 

Mr. Brett could not dispute the truth of the latter asser- 
tion. He held his peace during the remainder of the drive, 


MARCIA, 


69 


and did not speak again till two-thirds of the railway 
journey which followed had been accomplished. Grief is 
apt to be unreasonable, he thought, the grief of women is 
especially so ; and the more violently it displays itself, the 
sooner it is over, as a rule. In another twenty-four hours 
Marcia would doubtless have become accustomed, if not 
resigned, to her loss ; probably in the meanwhile it was 
best to comply with her entreaty and leave her alone. 
Nevertheless, when they were nearing London, it occurred 
to him to say : 

“You have not forgotten, I hope, that we are dining 
with my brother George to-night.” 

“With whom? ” asked Marcia, starting out of her sor- 
rowful musings. “ With George and Caroline ? Oh, I 
can’t possibly dine there this evening — nothing would 
induce me ! ” 

“ Yet you accepted the invitation,” observed Mr. Brett, 
with gathering clouds upon his brow. 

“ Did I ? Well, I’ll send an excuse as soon as we get 
home.” 

“ I cannot sanction your doing that, Marcia. It would 
be an act of unpardonable rudeness, and I am afraid it 
would be considered a deliberate act also.” 

“ Oh, dear no ! ” answered Marcia, speaking from the 
height of her superior social knowledge ; “ it is the com- 
monest thing in the world for people to send excuses at 
the last moment.” 

“ It may be, although I was not aware of it ; but I am 
certain that in this instance it would give offence. And, 
however indifferent you may be to that, I do not wish to 
offend my brother. If you had refused the invitation when 
it came I should have been sorry, but I should not have 
interfered ; as you saw fit to accept it, I must request you 
to keep your engagement.” He added, with the air of 
overcoming some inward reluctance, “ I ask this as a per- 
sonal favor.” 

“ Really, Eustace, it is impossible,” answered Marcia. 
“ It isn’t because I dislike them, or because I want to go 
anywhere else, except to bed ; but you don’t know what 
Caroline is. She would say things to me about Willie which 
would simply drive me mad — I couldn’t face her to-night ! 
If you think they will be affronted by being thrown over, 
you can go without me and say you left me in bed with a 
splitting headache — which will be true.” 


70 


MARCIA, 


“ It will be true, perhaps ; but it will not be believed. 
There is one thing of which I should like to remind you, 
Marcia, because it will probably strike you as important. 
My brother George is very rich and he has no children. It 
is not unnatural to anticipate that he will make our boy 
his heir, provided that we can manage to keep upon 
friendly terms with him ; but it is perfectly possible that 
he may decide upon a different arrangement, if we go out 
of our way to slight him. Now I will leave you to judge 
whether it is worth your while to have a headache to- 
night.” 

The appeal was scarcely skillful, and Mr. Brett, who had 
just observed that there are many ways of loving, might 
have known better than to trust to it. Marcia, no doubt, 
had a passionate love for Willie ; but she considered that 
what with his father’s fortune and her own, his pecuniary 
interests were pretty safe, and as greed of gain was a weak- 
ness from which she herself chanced to be free, she looked 
upon it as an especially contemptible one. 

“ Is that why you submit so meekly to be patronized by 
George and pitied by Caroline ? ” she asked disdainfully. 
“ Well, I hope you will be gratified by their leaving their 
money to you or Willie, and I daresay you will be ; because 
they are much too just and righteous and merciful to hold 
you responsible for my sins. I can’t make my head stop 
aching to please them or even to please myself : besides 
which, I doubt very much whether they would love me 
any better if I allowed them to trample upon me.” 

“ Nobody asked you to do that,” returned Mr. Brett, 
with some little irritation ; “ you are only being asked to 
make a small sacrifice, which you wouldn’t think twice 
about if the question were one of your own amusement or 
advantage.” 

Marcia merely shrugged her shoulders without replying. 

“ I am to understand then,” said Mr. Brett coldly, “ that 
you absolutely decline to oblige me ? ” 

I don’t think you have given me any sufficient reason 
for obliging you,” answered Marcia. “ You can’t really 
suppose that, if George has made his will, he will alter it 
because I once failed to turn up at dinner when 1 was 
expected. And, as I told you before, I am feeling too 
miserable to tolerate Caroline to-night. If I did go with 
you, the chances are that I should quarrel with her, and 
then you would be sorry that you hadn’t left me at home.” 


MARCIA. 


71 


This consideration may have had some weight with Mr. 
Brett. At any rate he did not press his request further, 
and the colloquy ended then and there. However, on 
parting with his wife after they had reached home, he felt 
justified in saying: “Ido not often ask a favor of you, 
Marcia, and I am sure you will be glad to hear that it will 
be a very long time before I break through my rule again.” 


CHAPTER IX. 

ILL-NATURED MRS. DELAMERE. 

“ Look down upon us ! ” ejaculated Sir George Brett, laugh- 
ing heartily at so preposterous a notion ; “ it would puzzle 
her to do that, I think. In order to look down upon 
people, one must be placed above them, and it is evident 
that she does not occupy that position with regard to us. 
Really, my dear Caroline, you are disposed to be rather 
too hard upon poor little Marcia.” 

“ Why in the world you should always speak of her as if 
she were a child, George, I cannot imagine,” Lady Brett 
returned. “ She is thirty, or very near it, she certainly 
has not much of the innocence of youth, and never since I 
have known her has she been little. I did not say that 
she had any right to look down upon us ; but as a matter 
of fact she does, and she loses no occasion of showing it, 
and she will probably show it to-night. Not, of course, 
that that is of any consequence.” 

If Sir George had believed such a thing to be possible, 
he would have thought it of very great consequence ; but 
he did not and could not believe anything of the sort. 
There had been passages of arms between his wife and 
Eustace’s wife ; more than once he himself had been drawn 
into the fray, and he had even been obliged to speak his 
mind pretty plainly to his brother. These family differences 
had, however, been less frequent of late, he had no desire 
that they should be renewed, and although he considered 
it likely enough that Marcia’s pretty head might have been 
turned by the attentions paid to her in high quarters, he 
did not suspect her of the enormity laid to her charge. 
He therefore contented himself with remarking ; 


72 


MARCIA. 


Marcia’s manner is occasionally distant, I have noticed. 
In all probability, a symptom of shyness rather than of 
pride.” 

It was now Lady Brett’s turn to laugh, and she did so. 
She was one of those agreeable people who seldom laugh 
unless they are angry, and whose laughter is high, dry and 
unmirthful. She was explaining to her husband that, what- 
ever might be her sister-in-law’s shortcomings, timidity was 
scarcely to be counted amongst their number, when the 
first of the guests whom they were about to receive at dinner 
was announced and interrupted her. 

Sir George and Lady Brett’s dinner-parties were done on 
a very large scale. There was a superabundance of food, 
a superabundance of people to devour it, and one might 
have said that there was a superabundance of servants, 
only that, perhaps, is not possible. With regard to the 
composition of these assemblages very little trouble was 
taken. So long as Lady Brett did not bring two deadly 
enemies together (and even this occurred from time to 
time through inadvertence), she conceived that she had 
fulfilled the whole duty of a hostess, and when she saw 
four-and-twenty gloomy countenances congregated round 
her board, she did not feel that she was in any way 
responsible for their gloom. The countenance of Mr. 
Brett, who arrived early, was gloomier than usual, and this 
his sister-in-law at once noticed. She greeted him with her 
accustomed air of compassion, pressing his hand and 
saying : 

“ My dear Eustace, how ill you are looking ! What have 
you done with Marcia ? Was she such a long time arranging 
her dress before the glass that you came upstairs without 
her ? ” 

I am quite well, thank you,” answered Mr. Brett, with 
a touch of fretfulness (for there was nothing that he hated 
so much as to be told that he was looking ill) ; “ but 
Marcia, I am sorry to say, is not. She has gone to bed 
with a very bad headache, and I must beg you to accept 
her sincere apologies.” 

There was not much chance that she would’either accept 
them, or place faith in their sincerity. Of this he was fully 
aware, and he was ready to submit patiently to any censure 
that might be passed upon the defaulter ; but it seemed a 
little hard that he should be punished for what was 
assuredly no sin of his. 


MARCIA, 


73 


Oh, a headache ? ” said Lady Brett, with a repetition 
of her wrathful laugh. “ Dear me ! Well, I am sorry you 
thought it necessary to come without her, Eustace ; a note 
would have done quite well. And now, you see, we shall 
be an uneven numbei:.” 

“ Shall I go away again ? ” asked Mr. Brett. 

Oh, of course not ; I didn’t mean that. But it is rather 
tiresome ; because I shall have to rearrange everything 
now.” And, seeing her husband at her elbow, she derived 
some consolation from saying to him, with a meaning 
smile, “ Marcia is not going to honor us with her company 
to-night. She has — ahem ! — a bad headache.” 

“ Oh, indeed ! ” answered Sir George. “ I am sorry to 
hear that.” 

Sir George had bushy grey eyebrows which, when he was 
displeased, met above his snub nose and gave the upper 
part of his face an appearance of truculence which was 
somewhat ludicrously contradicted by the insignificance of 
his mouth and chin. He had, however, a long upper lip ; 
so that a physiognomist might have guessed the man 
to be vindictive and obstinate, notwithstanding— Or 
possibly on account of — the weakness of his character. 
His brother, who understood him, knew that he never for- 
gave an affront, and was not surprised to hear him say : 

“ Dinner engagements sometimes bring on a headache, 
I believe. We must endeavor to do what in us lies to 
prevent the recurrence of such attacks in Marcia’s case.” 

Obviously the matter could not be allowed to rest there ; 
so Mr. Brett drew his brother aside for a moment and 
began : 

“ I very much regret that Marcia has been compelled to 
disappoint you ” 

‘‘Oh, not at all! — no disappointment at all, I assure 
you,” interrupted Sir George. “ Marcia has only to please 
herself and she will please us ; pray tell her so from me. 
Humble as we are, we have no desire to entertain reluctant 
guests.” 

Poor Mr. Brett sighed irritably. “ I cannot tell you 
whether Marcia is or is not reluctant to be your guest, 
George,” said he ; “ her tastes and mine differ, and we do 
not often communicate them to each other. But, to the 
best of my belief, her headache is quite genuine, and I can 
honestly say that I do not think she is in a fit state to dine 


74 


MARCIA, 


out. She has been very much upset by parting with oui 
boy, whom we left at school to-day.” 

Sir George looked slightly mollified j but perhaps he 
deemed it beneath his dignity to come out of the sulks 
without more ado ; for he only observed : “ It is a wise 
rule to keep appointments, even at the cost of some per- 
sonal inconvenience. If I had not adhered to that rule 
through life, I suppose I should have been in the Bank- 
ruptcy Court before now.” 

The younger brother fell back, feeling that there was no 
more to be said. His anticipations had been fully verified ; 
George had taken offence, and what made this additionally 
vexatious was that, by his way of thinking, George had 
some right to take offence. It was quite true that appoint- 
ments ought to be kept, and it was probably also true that 
Marcia might have kept hers by making a small effort. 
But Marcia did not choose to make efforts in the required 
direction, and his own were obviously useless. He wished 
with all his heart that he had stayed at home, instead of 
coming in vain to this dismal banquet. 

Presently the door was flung open, there was a little stir 
among the eompany, and he was introduced to a Mrs. 
Delamere, a thin, faded woman, whose dress was cut very 
low, whose cheeks were painted, and whose yellow hair, 
or wig, was besprinkled with diamonds. He bowed and 
offered her his arm mechanically. It was a matter of per- 
fect indifference to him whether the person beside whom 
he was doomed to sit through two weary hours was young 
or old, fat or thin, colored or plain. He thought of a few 
commonplaces to utter for her benefit, and scarcely listened 
to her replies. After they had taken their seats at the 
dinner-table she began to talk about the pictures in the 
Academy, which seemed to show a lamentable lack of 
original ideas on the part of so smart-looking a lady ; but 
possibly she had her reasons for bringing forward that 
threadbare topic, and Mr. Brett pricked up his ears when 
he heard her mention the name of Archdale. 

“ I like Mr. Archdale’s pictures,”- Mrs. Delamere was 
saying, “ but — perhaps I had better not go on, though. 
He is a great friend of yours, isn’t he ? ” 

“No ; only a slight acquaintance,” answered Mr. Brett, 
turning his tired eyes interrogatively towards his neighbor! 

“ Oh, not a great friend of yours ? I thought perhaps 


MARCIA, 


75 


he might be, as he is such a very great friend of your 
wife’s. Though to be sure, that isn’t always a reason, 
is it?” 

“You may safely abuse him, if that is what you wish to 
do,” replied Mr. Brett ; for, notwithstanding his coldness 
and insensibility, he thought, as most men do, that women 
have no business to be impertinent unless they are pretty. 

Mrs. Delamere was not disconcerted. “ I wasn’t going 
to abuse him,” said she, “ but I confess that I don’t par- 
ticularly like him. He is rather too much of a professional 
lady-killer for my taste.” 

“ Oh, he is a professional lady-killer, is he ? ” asked Mr. 
Brett, absently. 

“Your acquaintance with him must indeed be slight if 
you haven’t discovered that yet. Why, it is the man’s 
sole raison d'etre — socially speaking, I mean. I don’t 
quarrel with him for flirting, because of course he is good- 
looking, and perhaps he can’t very well help himself, but 
he shouldn’t parade his conquests as he does. It is 
hardly fair play, you know.” 

Eustace Brett might look dull, and it was not surprising 
that he should look dull, seeing that he generally felt so, but 
he had wit enough to understand the insinuation and dignity 
enough to resent it. He said: “I was not aware that 
Mr. Archdale paraded his conquests, but if he does, you 
are, no doubt, quite right in disapproving of his bad taste. 
Personally, I do not feel sufficient interest in him to care 
very much whether his taste is good or bad.” 

“Although he is such a great friend of your wife’s?” 
asked the irrepressible Mrs. Delamere. 

“ With regard to questions of taste, my wife is at least 
as good a judge as I. If, therefore, Mr. Archdale is a 
great friend of hers — but I am not convinced that he is — 
that would, to my mind, be presumptive evidence in his 
favor. I should imagine that you have been misinformed 
about him, but really it does not signify.” 

Not without a certain effort did Mr. Brett thus snub a 
willing witness. Clearly Marcia had been guilty of some 
indiscretion which this woman knew all about and was 
eager to communicate to him, but he could not receive 
such testimony. He looked her straight in the face, and 
she returned his gaze steadily, dropping the corners of her 
mouth with an air of mocking commiseration. But she 


76 


MARCIA. 


was cowed. He had at least the poor satisfaction of 
knowing that, whatever calumnies might be upon the tip 
of her tongue, she had not the courage to let them pass 
her lips in his presence. She did not trouble him with 
much more of her conversation after this, and as the lady 
who was placed upon his left hand took no notice of him, 
he sat mute, thinking his own thoughts and wishing for 
the end of the outrageously long menu. 

To those who have allowed their minds to dwell upon 
the idea of eternity it must always be a consolatory reflection 
that in this world, at any rate, all things are finite, and 
even Sir George Brett’s dinners, like the east winds of 
spring and the sermons of certain ecclesiastics, moved 
towards an appointed end, though of course it was not easy 
to realize this so long as they were in full swing. At a 
quarter to eleven the ladies left the dining-room, and then 
Sir George, who had apparently recovered his good humor, 
was kind enough to address some amiable remarks to his 
brother. 

“ So you’ve got rid of that young scapegrace of yours, 
eh ? A very good thing, too ! He’ll have some chance 
to show what stuff he is made of now. I’m sure I hope he 
will turn out well, for it looks as though he would be the 
only one of his generation to bear our name.” 

There was a significance about this observation which 
may not have been wholly unintentional, but it scarcely 
affected Mr. Brett, whose mind was otherwise engaged. 
He was himself so honest, so upright, so strictly true to 
his narrow code of morality, that he could not suspect his 
wife of disloyalty without a sense of personal humiliation. 
He did not, in truth, suspect her of anything worse than 
folly ; but it was not very pleasant to him to suspect 
Marcia even of that, and it was very far from pleasant to 
him, when he went up to the drawing-room, to see Caroline 
rise, with an air of joyous alacrity, from the sofa upon 
which she had been sitting beside Mrs. Delamere and 
make straight for him. For he at once perceived that he 
was about to be informed of something that he would rather 
not hear. 

Lady Brett, as her habit was, wasted no time in circum- 
locution, but drew him aside and said bluntly : 

“ Eustace, I want to speak to you about Marcia. You 
know me well enough to know that I am not malicious, 


MARCIA, 


77 


and that her having treated me so unceremoniously as she 
has done to-night and on former occasions would never 
make me wish to do her an injury. But, for her own sake, 
to say nothing of yours, I feel I ought to tell you that she 
is now being talked about in a way which should not be 
allowed to go on. You don’t go out, so you cannot see or hear 
what takes place in society ; but it seems to be notorious 
that that man Archdale is always at her elbow, and that he 
makes a boast of — well, I am afraid I must call it her 
infatuation for him. You know — or perhaps you don’t 
know — that there was a fancy fair at the Albert Hall this 
afternoon, which was patronized by all the great ladies. 
For some reason or other, Mr. Archdale is also patronized 
by the great ladies just now, and I am told that at one of 
their stalls he was selling some water-colors and sketches 
of his, amongst which was a portrait of your wife, inscribed 
‘ Marcia.’ Everybody who knew her recognized it at a 
glance, and naturally everbody wondered what business he 
had to make use of her Christian name.” 

If he did that,” answered Mr. Brett slowly, “ he was 
very impertinent. I have, however, no grounds for sup- 
posing that his impertinence was sanctioned by my wife. 
Mrs. Delamere is your informant, I presume.” 

“ It was from Mrs. Delamere that I heard about the 
sketch ; others have told me that Marcia and Mr. Arch- 
dale are inseparable. Personally, I have no ambition to 
force my way into aristocratic houses ; I do not belong to the 
aristocracy by birth, and I am contented with the position 
which it has pleased Providence to assign to me. Therefore 
I am obliged to judge Marcia’s conduct by hearsay. 

“ Quite so,” agreed Mr. Brett, with some slight asperity ; 
and if you are obliged to judge of it at all, Mrs. Delamere’s 
authority may, for anything that I know to the contrary, be 
an excellent one for you to base your judgment upon. For 
my own part, I should hesitate to rely implicitly upon 
it, because Mrs. Delamere struck me as ill-natured, and 
I daresay she may once have been pretty.” 

Lady Brett frowned and tossed up her chin. “ Oh, my 
dear Eustace,” she said, “ that accusation of jealousy is 
such a very stale one to bring against women, and yet 
every man who makes it appears to think that it is a brand- 
new discovery of his own ! In reality, Mrs. Delamere 
spoke quite kindly of Marcia. She blamed Mr.' Archdale, 


78 


MARCIA. 


and I think she was right, and so, I am sure, do you. You 
cannot think it desirable that gossip should connect your 
wife’s name with his, and I hope and believe that you will 
take steps to put an end to such gossip. Mind, I am not 
interfering or advising — I never do interfere with anybody, 
as you know — I am merely giving you a caution. Con- 
scientiously, I could do no less.” 

“ I am very much indebted to you,” answered Mr. Brett 
gravely. 

Without any irony or figure of speech, he did feel 
indebted to her, though he considered that he was in duty 
bound to repress her. She was not the most amiable 
woman in the world, but he believed her to be honest, 
pious, and animated by the best intentions. On his way 
home he had to ask himself what his own intentions were, and 
the question was a hard one to answer. He was too proud 
to relish the part of a suspicious husband, too nervous and 
irritable to despise scandalous whisperings, and too scrupu- 
lously honest to blink at the fact that if his wife was 
criticized after a fashion which was hateful to him, the 
fault was in great measure his own. He had no right to 
scold her, nor any wish to accuse her ; at the bottom of 
his heart, what he desired was to say nothing to her about 
Archdale or about that unauthorized exhibition of her por- 
trait. And eventually — as was perhaps rendered inevitable 
by the conditions of the case — this was the course which he 
decided to adopt. He would not retail gossip, he would 
not provoke a scene, he would not forbid Marcia to 
speak to Archdale ; but in future he would go out with 
her more frequently than he had hitherto done, and the 
evidence of his own senses would tell him what step, if 
any, he ought to take. 

It would have been simpler and wiser to tell her frankly 
what he had heard, and to remind her that public opinion, 
whether just or unjust, cannot safely be disregarded ; but 
poor Eustace Brett was neither simple nor wise. Had he 
been the one or the other, he probably would not, on 
reaching his study, have sunk into an armchair and, drop- 
ping his head upon his hands, have muttered despairingly, 
“ I am sick and weary of it all ! I wish to Heaven I had 
died when I seemed to be so near death ! 


MARCIA, 


79 


CHAPTER X. 

MR. BRETT IS VERY UNWISE. 

If we all agreed to make no secret of our mental and 
physical sufferings, the world might perhaps be a more 
interesting place to live in than it is, but it would probably 
be a good deal less comfortable. In every civilized com- 
munity, and even in some uncivilized ones, it is held, not 
without reason, that pain ought to be submitted to silently, 
and that to moan and groan in public is both cowardly 
and ill-bred. Marcia Brett could scarcely be called well- 
bred in the strict sense of the term, for she had not the 
most remote idea of who her great-grandfather had been ; 
but she had learnt to conform to the usages of the society 
which she frequented, and after Willie had been taken 
from her she went about the world, like most other people, 
with a smile upon her lips, and ready phrases at the tip 
of her tongue, and a dull ache about the region of the 
heart, which never wholly ceased, though it was more acute 
at some moments than at others. It was no comfort to 
her (though doubtless it should have been), to receive the 
boy’s cheerful letters and to hear that he was well and happy. 
His health had always been good, and he was such a 
friendly and plucky little fellow that there was small danger 
of his failing to hit it off with other mortals either at school 
or elsewhere. The sad thing was that his childhood was 
at an end, and that never again, through time and eternity, 
could his mother be to him what she had once been. 

During these melancholy weeks, Marcia found her chief 
consolation in the company of Mr. Archdale, whom she 
frequently met, and whose attentions caused her a pleasur- 
able excitement, the causes of which she did not care to 
analyze. She heard (though not from her husband) the 
story of his having hawked about a likeness of her at the 
Albert Hall, and her first feeling was certainly one of 
annoyance that he should have taken so great a liberty ; 


8o 


MARCIA, 


but his reply, when charged with this offence, was of a 
nature to disarm hostility. 

“ Do you mind?” he asked wonderingly. ‘‘ I had no 
idea that you would, or, of course, I wouldn’t have done 
it. Perhaps I am wrong, but it always seems to me that a 
beautiful face is in a certain sense public property — in the 
same sense, I mean, as places like Chatsworth and Eaton 
and Alnwick. The owners of those places have a perfect 
right to close them against everybody except their friends, 
but it would be rather churlish of them if they did, don’t 
you think so ? ” 

“ The public is very welcome to gaze upon my features, 
or upon a reproduction of them,” answered Marcia, laugh- 
ing and coloring a little ; “ I didn’t so much object to that 
as to your using my Christian name as a label. At least, 
that was what my husband objected to.” 

“ Oh, it was your husband who objected ! But he is rather 
given to objecting, isn’t he ? Still I daresay I ought not to 
have done it. My only excuse is that I honestly thought 
you would prefer a sort of anonymity to being boldly 
advertised as ‘Mrs. Brett’.” 

“ Perhaps I might have preferred to avoid advertise- 
ment of any kind,” abserved Marcia, with a smile. “ Don’t 
you think you might have just ascertained my wishes before 
you took upon yourself to advertise me ? ” 

Archdale sighed. “ The world has corrupted me,” he 
answered ; “ it isn’t easy for me to realize that a beautiful 
woman may really dislike notoriety. Well, now I suppose 
I have only made my case worse. What can I say ? I 
am very, very sorry, Mrs. Brett, and please will you forgive 
me ? ” 

He assumed an attitude of humility, pressed the tips of 
his fingers together, and gazed pleadingly into her eyes. 
Perhaps it was because he looked so handsome and so 
penitent, perhaps it was because he had twice called her 
beautiful within the space of a few minutes, that Marcia 
readily pardoned him. 

“ Only don’t do it again,” she said, “ because I don’t 
very much like it; and although Eustace hasn’t spoken 
directly to me upon the subject, I know by his manner 
that he dislikes it very particularly.” 

Now there was no denying that Mr. Brett was entitled 
to dislike it. That much Marcia inwardly acknowledged, 


MARCIA, 


8l 


nor was she ungrateful fo him for the reticence which he 
had displayed ; but what first surprised and then angered 
her was his novel and persistent determination to force 
upon her an escort with which she had learned to dis- 
pense. 

“You have often told me that I ought to go out more 
with you,” he answered drily, when she remonstrated with 
him for over-tiring himself by attending three balls in one 
night. “ I begin to see that you are right, and I shall try 
to do my duty, so long as my strength will serve me.” 

“I am sorry that you should feel bound to make a mar- 
tyr of yourself,” returned Marcia, vexed by the tacit 
reproach. 

She really could not give up all social intercourse to 
please him. Once upon a time she might perhaps have 
been persuaded to make that sacrifice, but it was far too 
late now. Long ago it had been agreed between them that 
they should go their respective ways, each without let or 
hindrance from the other, and she, for her part, did not 
desire to cancel the agreement. If for some reason best 
known to himself, he intended to make a change in his 
habit that was his affair. 

And naturally it did not take her very long to discover 
what his reason was. Often, while she was chatting with 
Archdale, and while her spirits (which fell every morning 
when, through mere force of habit, she peeped into Willie’s 
empty room) were beginning to rise again, she had a 
disagreeable sensation of being watched by somebody, and, 
sure enough, she would presently descry at a distance of 
some few yards a pair of faded, tired eyes fixed upon her — 
eyes which expressed neither blame nor remonstrance nor 
wrath, but merely a sort of dull patience. It was anything 
but a patient look that flashed from her own as she met 
them. What did he mean ? What did he suspect ? What 
did he want ? Jealousy she could have forgiven, but this 
was not jealousy, it was shtQv espionage. 

In truth, poor Mr. Brett could hardly have adopted a 
more foolish line of conduct than that which had recom- 
mended itself to him. He was no spy : yet he managed 
to look exactly like one, and if his motive for hovering 
near his wife was to stop the mouths of the scandal-mon- 
gers, not to interfere with her liberty of action, so much 
chivalry was scarcely to be inferred from his demeanor. In 


82 


MARCIA, 


reality he was not dissatisfied with what he saw. He had 
no fancy for Archdale, and wondered at her taste in mak- 
ing a friend of the man ; but she did not, so far as he was 
able to judge, favor Archdale more than she had favored a 
dozen others. At the bottom of his heart there lurked a 
conviction, which he had always evaded putting into the 
form of a distinct thought, that Marcia loved herself too 
much to be capable of loving any other human being too 
much. 

But Marcia, pardonably enough, failed to discern all 
this. What was quite evident was that Eustace had 
resolved to dog her steps, and the futility of the proceeding 
was scarcely less exasperating to her than its impertinence. 
For how in the world is a Metropolitan Police-magistrate 
to discharge his daily duties and undertake those of an 
amateur detective into the bargain ? His absurd conduct 
invited and almost defied her to outwit him. But for that 
imaginary defiance, she would not, perhaps, have made so 
many appointments to meet Archdale in the Park, at Hiir- 
lingham, at luncheon-parties and tea-parties. So they met 
continually, and of course their intimacy was remarked 
upon, and at length Lady Wetherby availed herself of the 
privilege of an old friend to say — 

“Aren’t you a little imprudent, Marcia? Mr. Archdale 
is a clever artist, and I daresay he may be very pleasant 
company ; but he isn’t worth getting into trouble about, 
and you know as well as I do that a woman always gets 
into trouble when her neighbors begin to accuse her of find- 
ing some man’s company more pleasant than she ought.” 

“ Oh, I am sick of being prudent ! ” answered Mareia 
impatiently. “ What difference does it make ? Spiteful 
people will always find an excuse for being spiteful, and so 
long as one does nothing wrong, why should one bother 
one’s head about them ? ” 

Lady Wetherby made a faint dissentient murmur. She 
would have liked to ask what her friend’s definition of 
“ doing nothing wrong ” was, but was too sensible to put 
so useless a question. However, there seemed to be no 
harm in remarking that some women were so situated as 
to be more open than others to the attacks of spite, and in 
deploring Mr. Brett’s stay-at-home habits. 

“ But he doesn’t stay at home any longer now,” returned 
Marcia, with a short laugh ; “ he has taken to pursuing me 


MARCIA. 


83 

like my shadow of late, and no entertainment is complete 
wlthoLit him. You may imagine how he enjoys it !” 

This was not very satisfactory hearing to one who wished 
Marcia well, and Lady Wetherby was glad to think that 
the London season was within a few weeks of its close. 
Her kindness of heart prompted her to say, upon the spur 
of the moment : “ I wish you would come down to Wether- 
by with us when we go, Marcia. It will be dull, of course, 
because we are to have no visitors at first, I believe ; but 
the rest will be good for you after such a long course of 
gaiety, and if you don’t get tired of us, we shall keep you 
until Mr. Brett takes his holiday.” 

“ I never get tired of you, Laura,” answered Marcia ; 
** you and Willie are the only two people in the world who 
don’t weary me.” She paused for a moment and sighed 
slightly before she added, “ Yes ; I think I should like to 
gC to Wetherby with you. When is the move to be made ? ” 

“ In about ten days, I hope. We have had quite enough 
ot London for this summer, and so, I should think, have 
you.” 

Marcia nodded and sighed once more. For the moment 
she did feel that it would be a relief to escape from the 
turmoil of London to the green lawns and leafy glades of 
Wetherby. She felt, too, that Laura was right in accusing 
her of imprudence ; and although she had fully intended to 
be imprudent, she did not quite like to hear how success- 
fully her intentions had been carried out. It was all very 
well to protest indifference to the opinion of spiteful per- 
sons, but her nature would not really allow her to be 
indifferent to anybody’s opinion, and if Mr. Archdale was 
not worth getting into trouble about, assuredly Eustace 
was not. It would be the height of folly to place in jeo- 
pardy the position which she had laboriously held during 
so many years for the sake of punishing one man who was 
incapable of loving her and giving some temporary gratifi- 
cation to another, who would probably forget her existence 
before she had been a week out of his sight. 

But when all was arranged, and when Mr. Brett had 
signified his cordial approval of the proposed plan, she 
began to wish that she had not been in such a hurry. 
Had she so many friends that she must needs deprive her- 
self of the one who was most congenial to her ? And was 
there any reasonable likelihood of Mr. Archdale’s possess- 


84 


MARCIA, 


ing a heart of the kind which absence causes to grow 
fonder? It was not without some nervousness and hesi- 
tation that she informed him of her impending departure ; 
for she was sure that he would be greatly distressed, and 
she dreaded the questions which he might be expected to 
ask upon the subject. He surprised her by receiving the 
news quite composedly. 

“ So you are going to Wetherby ? ” he said. “ That’s 
capital ! I’m going there too.” 

“ But not just yet, are you ? ” asked Marcia. “ Laura 
said nothing about it. In fact I understood that there was 
to be nobody but themselves in the house.” 

“ Well, I’m nobody ; I’m only the artist who comes to 
paint the walls. When Lord Wetherby gave me the order 
he said I might choose my own time for executing it, and 
now I shall avail myself of that gracious permission.” 

Marcia gave him several good reasons for waiting until 
he was asked. It was absurd to speak of himself as 
though he were a mere house-decorator ; when he visited 
Wetherby he must of course do so as a guest ; both Laura 
and Lord Wetherby were anxious, she believed, to lead a 
life of absolute retirement for a few weeks ; he would find 
the place much more enjoyable later in the year, when the 
shooting-parties would have begun. “ Besides,” she added 
at length, perceiving that none of these arguments moved 
him, “ they will certainly think that you wish to go there 
now because I am going.” 

“ Naturally they will,” he replied calmly ; “ that’s just 
what I shall tell them.” 

Marcia could not help laughing. “ Perhaps it will be 
just as well if you do,” she said ; “ for then they will un- 
doubtedly request you to postpone your visit.” 

“ Do you mean that you would prefer my room to my 
company,” he asked quickly. “ In that case, I need hardly 
say that I won’t attempt to force myself upon you.” 

She shrugged her shoulders slightly. “ I think you 
know what I mean,” she answered. “ It will be rather 
dull at Wetherby, but sometimes dulness has to be en- 
dured.” 

“ Only when it is unavoidable, though. I am quite sure 
that I shall not be able to endure the dulness of London 
after you have left, so, with your permission, I shall throw 
myself upon the good nature and hospitality of the Wether- 


MARCIA, 


85 


bys. I don’t a bit mind their knowing that your presence 
in the house will be a powerful attraction to me : why 
shouldn’t it be ? ” 

Mareia neither gave her permission nor refused it. She 
could not very well be more explicit than she had been, 
and she said to herself that if he was bent upon courting a 
rebuff, he must be allowed to do so. Since there was not 
the smallest chance of his obtaining the invitation of which 
he made so sure, she felt at liberty to regret that inability, 
and to rejoice a little on his admission that he would find 
London unbearably dull without her. 

But it was with no apprehension of being rebuffed that 
Archdale went to call upon Lady Wetherby on the follow- 
ing day. Experience, by the light of which we are all 
wont to steer (and a poor sort of light it is, though per- 
haps the best obtainable), had long ago taught him that 
he could get almost anything that he wanted by asking for 
it prettily, and although he was not very warmly received, 
it was with all his usual self-confidence and cheerfulness 
that he began : 

“ So you’re off to the country, I hear, Lady Wetherby. 
Fm very glad of it, because I want to get away from Lon- 
don too, and I don’t think there could be a better time for 
me to make a start with the famous panels. Could you 
put me up if I ran down in about a week or ten days ? ” 

“ Oh, there is no hurry about the panels,” answered 
Lady Wetherby in a tone which was not meant to be en- 
couraging. 

“ Ah, Fm afraid there’s never any hurry where my work 
is concerned. Fm diligent, but Fm incurably slow, and I 
really ought not to put off the beginning of this job any 
longer. Moreover, Mrs. Brett tells me that she is to be 
your only guest for some weeks to come, so that if I go 
down now I shall not be in the people’s way and there will 
be nobody to interrupt me.” 

“You think there would be no interruptions?” 

Archdale laughed. “ None of a deleterious kind,” he 
answered. “ Mrs. Brett won’t be an interruption, you 
know, she’ll be an inspiration.” 

“ I don’t think there is any occasion for us to take you 
away from London before the end of the season,” said 
Lady Wetherby coldly. 

“ But when I tell you that I am dying to leave London ! 
Now, I know quite well what you are thinking, and you are 


86 


MARCIA, 


both right and wrong. You are right about my wishing 
to be in the same house with Mrs. Brett, whom I still adore 
in my innocent way, but you are quite wrong in setting me 
down as dangerous. Really and truly I am not danger- 
ous.*’ 

Lady Wetherby tried for a moment to maintain a dignified 
demeanor, but could not manage it. “ If you care to know 
what I think,” said she, “ I think you a good deal more 
conceited than dangerous ; but that may not be generally 
understood, and I suppose you must be aware that there 
has been a certain amount of gossip about Marcia and you 
lately. Therefore, if it is the same thing to you, I would 
rather ask you to come to us in August or September than 
now.” 

“ But it isn’t at all the same thing to me,” returned the 
irrepressible Archdale. “ How very unkind you are ! 
Mayn’t I come if I promise and swear to behave with the 
utmost propriety ? ” 

This sort of pleading, whieh he had found effective in 
other quarters, was not quite the best that he could have 
adopted in his present difficulty, and he would no doubt 
have promised and sworn in vain if Lord Wetherby had 
not chanced to enter the room before he left it. To ^hat 
good-natured and easy-going personage he at once appealed. 

“ I say. Lord Wetherby, I want to go down to your place 
in a week, and set to work, and Lady Wetherby won’t have 
me, because she is afraid I shall flirt with Mrs. Brett. 
Did you ever hear of anything more unfounded and ridi- 
culous ! Why, I shall be daubing away at the walls pretty 
nearly all day long ! ” 

“ My good fellow,” answered Lord Wetherby, “ if you 
aren’t afraid of Mrs. Brett, I don’t think we need be 
alarmed on her account. Mrs. Brett can take pretty good 
care of herself. By all means, come whenever it suits you ; 
only don’t blame me if you get a broken heart for your 
pains.” 

Archdale seized his advantage with commendable promp- 
titude. “ Thanks awfully,” said he, “ that’s all right, then. 
I’ll make my preparations, and drop you a line as soon as 
I’m ready to begin. Good-bye.” And he was out of the 
house before another word could be uttered. 

Lady Wetherby had an admirable temper, but this was 
more than she could stand. Everybody knows,” she 


MARCIA. 


87 

told her husband, “ that you have no discrimination, but 
I really do think that, for my sake if for no one else’s, you 
might have snubbed that man. How he can have the im- 
pudence to accept an invitation which I had just refused 
point-black to give him, passes my comprehension ! ” 

“ He zs a little bit cheeky, perhaps,” agreed Lord We- 
therby, with a meditative smile. 

“ Cheek is no word for it ! Well, since you have asked 
him, I suppose he must come ; but I warn you, that I shall 
I turn him out of the house without ceremony if he doesn’t 
behave himself. I only hope and trust that people won’t 
hear what an idiotic thing we have done.” 


CHAPTER XI. 

AT WETHERBY. 

Wetherby is one of those vast, solid, north-country man- 
sions which excite admiration rather than a spirit of covet- 
ousness in the breast of the beholder. Standing upon high 
ground, this huge, weather-worn pile of grey stone com- 
mands from its many windows a wide view over the coun- 
ties of Yorkshire and Durham, upon the borders of which 
it is situated, and presents a sufficiently imposing appear- 
ance by reason of its size, though its architectural merits 
are scarcely of the first order. When the wind blows from 
the north-east (a happy condition of things which com- 
monly prevails throughout the autumn, winter, and spring), 
it is cold beyond all power of words to describe, or of any 
furnace to overcome ; it is lonely because the extent of its 
owner’s territory converts near neighbors into distant ones, 
and it is dreary apart from climatic disadvantages, because 
no house-party large enough to fill it can possibly be assem- 
bled within its walls. Nevertheless, this bleak domain is not 
always bleak. In hot summers (for even Durham and 
Yorkshire have a summer, and even England, as we 
know, can boast of a hot one every now and again) the whis- 
pering woods and grassy glades of Wetherby afford a re- 
treat which to many a weary Londoner would seem like 
Paradise, nor was their beauty thrown away upon Marcia 
Brett, who sometimes fancied that she enjoyed solitude 


88 


MARCIA, 


and communion with Nature. If this was quite a mistake 
— as in all probability it was — sufficient time to discover 
her error was not granted to her ; for she had not tasted 
the delights of sylvan existence for three days, when her 
hostess remarked casually : 

“ Mr. Archdale is to arrive this evening. I forget whether 
I told you that he is to paint the panels of the ball-room 
for us. It will be a long job, and it will keep him busy 
all day long ; so I daresay he will not be much in our 
way.” 

Marcia both felt and looked astonished ; but Lady 
Wetherby did not choose to notice that. “ He asked him- 
self,” she explained. “ Artists, I suppose, must be allowed 
such privileges, though they are sometimes a little incon- 
venient. One comfort is, that I don't feel called upon to 
provide entertainment for him.” 

An irrepressible smile appeared for a moment upon 
Marcia’s lips ; she may have thought that the task of en- 
tertaining Mr. Archdale might safely be committed to her. 
But this, it need scarcely be said, was by no means Lady 
Wetherby’s view of the case ; nor was the young artist, 
who duly appeared at the dinner-table that night, suffered 
to forget that he had joined the party in a purely profes- 
sional capacity. He could not, of course, be prevented 
from spending a part of the evening with the ladies ; but he 
could be, and was, prevented from spending a single minute 
with one of them alone. And, on the following morning, 
he was informed in the most considerate way, that nobody 
would think of interrupting him at his labors. If he pre- 
ferred to have his luncheon brought to him in the ball- 
room, he was to ring the bell and say so \ he was to make 
himself quite at home, and to order anything that he 
wanted, including a horse, when he felt the need of exer- 
cise and fresh air. 

“ In short,” said Lady Wetherby graciously, “ we shall 
go on just as if you were not here, and you must not 
trouble your head about any of us.” 

Archdale did not allow diffidence to deter him from sug- 
gesting that Mrs. Brett might like to explore the neighbor- 
hood on horseback, and adding that he should be most 
happy to escort her ; but unfortunately for him, Marcia 
did not ride ; and all his ingenuity was employed in vain 
to defeat the vigilance of her too devoted friend. It was 


MARCIA. 


useless to bounce into the library or the boudoir at unex- 
pected times ; nothing was gained by patiently promen- 
ading the garden before breakfast, nor did it avail him to 
request Mrs. Brett’s honest opinion of his work, so far as 
it had gone. Mrs. Brett was quite willing to pass judg- 
ment upon his outlines, but so also was Lady Wetherby ; 
they appeared to be absolutely inseparable, and the most 
provoking part of the whole business, was that Marcia evi- 
dently enjoyed this very poor and unduly protracted joke. 

Such jokes are always enjoyed by women, and Marcia 
was not yet weary of this one at the end of the week, by 
which time Archdale’s exasperation could no longer be 
concealed. Knowing, as she did, that neither Lady 
Wetherby nor anybody else could prevent her from grant- 
ing the interview that he desired, so soon as it should 
please her to be merciful, she naturally chose to prolong a 
state of things which it was at her option to terminate. It 
was, however, terminated at length by circumstances with 
which she had nothing to do. A political meeting having 
been appointed to take place in one of the large neighbor- 
ing towns, and sundry statesmen having intimated their 
intention of speaking at it. Lord Wetherby could do no 
less than offer hospitality to the orators and their families \ 
and so it came to pass, that an assembly of some twenty 
persons claimed his wife’s attention one evening. Poor 
Lady Wetherby knew very well what was sure to happen ; 
but how could she help it? She kept Marcia beside her 
after dinner, and engaged her in conversation with the 
political ladies ; but, of course, the groups broke up when 
the men came in from the dining-room, and, equally of 
course. Archdale succeeded in drawing Mrs. Brett away to 
an open window, whence a charming prospect of moon-lit 
lawn and garden could be descried. 

“ Don’t you think it would be rather nice to go outside 
for a few minutes ? ” he asked humbly. “ This room is 
stiflingly hot, and though I suppose these people are too 
old and solemn to perpetrate a round game, one of them is 
sure to be asked to sing presently, which will be almost as 
bad.” 

Marcia who vV^s not looking at him and seemed to be 
preoccupied with thoughts of her own, nodded and 
stepped out on to the grass without more ado. Twenty- 
four hours earlier she would perhaps have shown herself 


90 


MARCIA, 


less accommodating, but it so chanced tnat she had re- 
ceived that morning a letter from her husband which had 
not only annoyed her a good deal, but had produced upon 
her exactly the opposite effect to that which it had been 
intended to produce ; this, unluckily, was the usual fate of 
Mr. Brett’s letters to his wife. 

“ I have been sorry,” he wrote, “ to hear that Mr. Arch- 
dale is . staying in the house with you, and I confess that if I 
had known he would be there, I should have hesitated to 
let you accept Lady Wetherby’s invitation. You will under- 
stand that I mean nothing more than I say ; only I think it 
right to tell you — in case you do not already know it — that 
the coincidence of your leaving London simultaneously and 
meeting in Yorkshire will be commented upon. Under the 
circumstancas, I think it well that you should join me as 
soon as possible, and I have arranged to move down to 
Lynton, where I have secured a house for the summer 
months, somewhat earlier than I had intended. I have sent 
some of the servants to make preparations. Willie’s holi- 
days, as you know, will begin in about a fortnight’s time, so 
that you will have a more powerful motive for coming south 
than any mere wish of mine could supply. I should, how- 
ever, much prefer your quitting your present quarters early 
next week.” 

Marcia thought this missive ungenerous, unmanly and 
ungentlemanlike, and she mentally applied all these 
epithets, besides some stronger ones, to it. It was, at any 
rate, unwise and unprofitable ; for after she had perused it 
she resolved that nothing should induce her to leave 
Wetherby a day sooner than she had originally proposed ; 
furthermore, she determined that she would no longer deny 
herself the pleasure of talking to Mr. Archdale when she 
felt so inclined. What had she done to be treated with 
such distrust? Certainly, if she had been minded to for- 
get her duty, it would not have been Lady Wetherby’s 
precautions or Eustace’s suspicions that would have roused 
her to a keener sense of it. So she had not a word to say 
against Archdale’s proposal that they should stroll across 
the garden towards the shrubberies which adjoined Lord 
Wetherby’s famous coverts, nor did she resent the reproach- 
ful accents in which he inquired why he had been seni to 
Coventry for a week. 

“ I haven’t sent you to Coventry,” she answered ; “ but 
I don’t wish Laura to think that I asked you to come here, 


MARCIA, 


9 * 


and she evidently does think that you are only here because 
I am. I warned you in London, you know, that she 
would.” 

“ Yes j and I told you that I hadn’t the slightest objec- 
tion to her being aware of the truth. Have you any 
objection ? ” 

' Marcia shrugged her shoulders. “ I have a strong ob- 
jection to being worried,” she replied, “ and of late every- 
body seems to have entered into a conspiracy to worry me. 
The worst of them all is my husband, because he doesn’t 
really care in the least what I do or who my friends may 
be.” 

“ Does Mr. Brett consider me an undesirable friend for 
you ? ” Archdale inquired. 

“ Oh, I suppose so, or else he considers it undesirable 
in the abstract that I should have any friends at all, except 
women. But, as I told you, he doesn’t really care one way 
or the other. This morning I had orders from him to 
proceed as soon as possible to Devonshire, where we are 
to spend the summer — and what .an enjoyable summer it 
will be ! He has taken a house at Lynton — have you ever 
been there ? ” 

Archdale had not visited that picturesque neighborhood, 
but had long desired to make himself acquainted with it, 
and hoped ere long to carry his wish into effect. 

“ Only not this year, please,” said Marcia, laughing. I 
should be delighted to see you, but I’m afraid Eustace 
would not, and as I don’t know a single soul in those parts, 
it is very essential to my comfort that Eustace should be 
kept in a moderately good humor.” 

Her companion made no immediate rejoinder ; he was 
walking beside her with his hands in his pockets and his 
eyes bent upon the ground. “ I don’t know,” he began at 
length, “ whether I am going to say anything shockingly 
immoral, but it does seem to me a groat pity that marriages 
can’t be dissolved by mutual consent. Why should one be 
made to suffer all one’s life long because one has fallen into 
a little mistake in one’s youth? ” 

There are obvious reasons for the existence of such a 
state of things, and Marcia recognized them. She did not, 
however, think it necessary to state these for Mr. Archdale’s 
benefit, but merely observed, “ Little mistakes lead to great 
disasters ; it’s the way of the world and there’s no help 


92 


MARCIA. 


for it. Still, I sometimes think it is rather hard that 
experience should be such a useless thing. If one could 
begin all over again one would know better and act differ- 
ently ; but one can’t begin again.” 

No,” agreed Archdale, sighing ; “ one can’t undo what 
is done : but one is surely entitled to get such happiness 
out of life as remains possible. Every man and every 
woman has a moral riglit, for instance, to the choice of 
friends.” 

“Very likely ; but claiming a right isn’t always the way 
to ensure happiness, I’m afraid.” 

They continued to beat about the bush after this fashion 
for some little time longer. Neither of them perhaps quite 
entered into the sentiments of the other, yet there was a 
mutual understanding between them which was probably 
sufficient for immediate purposes. Marcia did not care to 
disguise the fact that she had no love for her husband, 
while Archdale was extremely anxious to make it clear 
that if he himself were in that fortunate man’s place, no 
wish of hers would remain ungratified. His manner was 
more subdued and more respectful than usual ; he said 
very little which might not have been said in the presence 
of Lady Wetherby, and Marcia, who was conscious of 
having allowed her tongue far too much liberty, could not 
but feel grateful to him for his moderation. Also it must 
be confessed that his companionship and his sympathy, 
which was insinuated rather than spoken, were delightful 
to her. 

Delightful, too, were the stillness and fragrance of the 
summer night and the moonlit vistas of the woods, which 
they had now entered. It was not surprising that amid 
such surroundings and in the interchange of half-confi- 
dences, they should have lost count of time ; still less 
surprising, perhaps, was it that they should have lost 
an even more important thing, namely, all accurate know- 
ledge of their whereabouts. When at last Marcia consulted 
her watch she gave a cry of dismay. 

Good gracious ! ” she exclaimed. “ Do you know that 
we have been out more than an hour? We must go back 
at once.” 

And very shortly after this it was that the difficulty of 
finding their way back became manifest to both of them. 
To the unaccustomed eye one shooting-drive is exactly like 


MARCIA. 


93 


another ; they had already sauntered along three or four 
of these, and if they now turned to the right instead of to 
the left, they only obeyed the instinct which sways most 
people who have omitted to provide themselves with a 
compass. 

“ I’m awfully sorry,” said Archdale, at length, “ but it’s 
useless to disguise the truth, and the truth is that I haven’t 
the faintest idea where I am — have you ? ” 

“ I know that I am in a dense forest which appears to 
have no limits,” answered Marcia, with a vexed laugh. 
“The only thing to be done is to follow our noses. 
Wetherby may be in front of us or behind us ; but if we 
walk straight.on I suppose we shall reach the open country 
before we die.” 

Archdale could suggest no better course, and, indeed, 
the result of adopting it was moderately successful, since, 
after twenty minutes or so, they did emerge upon a hillside 
whence the chimneys of Wetherby could be descried ; but 
it took them the best part of another half hour to reach 
the house, where they met with the reception which their 
behavior seemed to have merited. The men had adjourned 
to the smoking-room and some of the ladies had gone to 
bed j but a few still remained with Lady Wetherby, and 
these evidently approved of the annoyed tone in which she 
addressed the wanderers. 

“ We thought you must be lost,” she said. “ I was just 
going to send out men with lanterns to search for you. 
Where have you been ? ” 

“ We were lost, but we are found again,” answered 
Archdale, who was not easily disconcerted. “ You ought 
to have sign-posts put up in those woods of yours. Lady 
Wetherby ; the Hampton Court maze is nothing to them.” 

Marcia did not attempt to excuse herself. She knew 
very well that a jury of her own sex would neyer acquit 
her, and that it would be a mere waste of breath to back 
up her companion’s statement ; therefore, she only said 
that she had had a long tramp and was tired out ; imme- 
diately after which she took up a bedroom candlestick, 
wished everybody good-night, and retired. 

Archdale was preparing to imitate her when Lady 
Wetherby laid a detaining hand upon his coat-sleeves. He 
could not disobey that intimation, so he remained resign- 
edly where he was until he and his hostess were left in sole 


94 


MARCIA, 


possession of the drawing-room, when he remarked, ‘‘ Now 
I am going to catch it, I suppose. All the same, we did 
lose our way.” 

Very likely you did,” returned Lady Wetherby curtly. 

I have nothing to say about that except that you had no 
business to lose your way ; but one thing I am quite de- 
termined about, and that is that I will not allow you the 
chance of making such a blunder again. I am sorry to 
appear inhospitable, Mr. Archdale, but I must ask you to 
go away to-morrow and not to come back until Marcia has 
left us. You know as well as I do what these people must 
have thought.” 

“ I give you my word,” answered Archdale, ** that I am 
as innocent as a new-born babe. We should have been 
back ever so long ago if we hadn’t unfortunately taken the 
wrong turning.” 

“ Oh, of course ; and in your innocence you will take 
the wrong turning again on the earliest opportunity. Now, 
Mr. Archdale, I am going to be perfectly candid with you. 
I don’t know whether you are a gentleman in the sense 
that I understand that term or not, but from the little that 
I have seen of you, I should think that you had principles 
of a kind and a vast stock of selfishness. Well, if you go 
on as you are doing, the chances are that you will cause a 
permanent rupture between Marcia and her husband. You 
wouldn’t like that, I presume.” 

“ Really,” answered Archdale, who, naturally enough, 
did not relish being told in such plain language that he 
was no gentleman, “ if I possessed the power that you give 
me credit for, which I don’t at all admit, I should not feel 
that I was guilty of any great crime by exercising it. Her 
husband is evidently a brute.” 

“ No, he is only an ordinary, honest man who is clever 
in some ways and stupid in others ; but that is neither 
here nor there. What I am sure you wouldn’t like would 
be the responsibility of having upon your hands a woman 
who was separated from her husband through you. I 
don’t pretend to be quick at reading character j but I think 
I can read yours well enough to understand that much. 
You had better leave her alone, Mr. Archdale. Anyhow, 
you can’t refuse to be telegraphed for to-morrow morning.” 

“ Of course I can’t,” agreed Archdale, smiling. “ I will 
be telegraphed for, then, and I will leave by the first train. 


MARCIA. 


95 


Nevertheless, you will perhaps excuse my saying that your 
remarks are almost as unflattering to Mrs. Brett as they 
are to myself.” 

Unflattering they might be; but he felt that, at least in 
so far as they bore reference to himself, they were true. 
He had no liking for tragedy, nor even for that kind of 
serio-comedy in which the serious element predominates. 
He adored Mrs. Brett ; but he knew that he could live 
without her, whereas, under existing circumstances, he 
certainly could not live with her. Therefore it would, 
without doubt, be right and wise to absent himself from her 
until such time as his emotions, and possibly also hers, 
should have become more amenable to restraint. In all 
honesty and sincerity he desired to do nothing wrong and 
to harm nobody — least of all himself. He perceived that 
sooner or later he would have to execute a strategic move- 
ment of retreat, and painful though it was to him to be 
driven away from one to whom (for the time being) his 
whole heart belonged, there was consolation in the thought 
that he was being driven away, that he was not retiring of 
his own free will. He slept quite soundly that night, and 
on the following morning before breakfast he was sum- 
moned up to London. However, he thought himself 
bound in common civility to leave a note for Mrs. Brett, 
in which he expressed deep regret at being compelled to 
go away without wishing her good-bye, and added that he 
looked forward to meeting her once more in the autumn, 
if, as she had given him to understand, he must not venture 
to invade her summer quarters. 


CHAPTER XII. 

Willie’s first holidays. 

Mr. Brett had been not little vexed to hear that Arch- 
dale had followed his wife to Wetherby. His sister-in-law, 
Caroline, who had obtained this information from some 
source or other, had hastened to impart it to him, and had 
not failed, while doing so, to point out that such an en- 
counter could hardly be the result of mere chance. He 
himself had difficulty in believing it to be wholly unpre- 


96 


MARCIA. 


meditated ) so that, although he preferred blaming Arch- 
dale to blaming Lady Wetherby or Marcia, he felt that it 
was his duty to remove the latter as soon as might be from 
an equivocal position. He managed to arrange an earlier 
date than had been fixed upon for the commencement of 
his holiday ; he composed the letter of which a portion has 
been quoted to his wife, and he journeyed down to Lyn,ton 
in the confident expectation that she would Join him there 
at once. He did not often issue instructions or even ex- 
press wishes, but when he did so, they were usually com- 
plied with ; therefore her reply, which reached him two 
days after his arrival in the far-west locality where he had 
decided to spend the summer, gave him both surprise and 
annoyance. 

“ I am sorry,” Marcia wrote, “ that you don’t like Mr. 
Archdale ; but I can’t say that I wonder at it, because 
you never do like the people whom I like. Luckily, how- 
ever, he left this morning, and I shall not now have to make 
myself ridiculous by cutting short my visit here. I should 
be curious to know who has ‘ commented upon ’ the coin- 
cidence that you speak of if I couldn’t form a tolerable 
good guess. Pray assure Caroline, with my love, that she 
is not likely to have the satisfaction of hearing that I have 
eloped with anybody. You may expect me when Willie’s 
holidays begin; I shall probably pick him up at Farn- 
borough, and bring him with me.” 

Mr. Brett was at least as averse to making himself ridi- 
culous as Marcia could be, and he was not at all sure that 
he had escaped committing that act of gratuitous folly. In 
any case, he did not see his way to despatch a second 
summons, and he wished with all his heart that he had not 
been in such a hurry to move down to Devonshire. It 
was desperately dull in that beautiful, but remote spot j 
deprived of his work and his club, he did not know how to 
get through the long hours, nor could he keep himself 
from brooding over the disappointments of life, by admir- 
ing the changing colors of cliff and moorland, or gazing 
across the Bristol Channel at the faint blue outline of the 
Welsh coast. To be sure, things would not have been 
much better if he had had Marcia with him ; but that was 
scarcely a consolatory reflection. 

Marcia, meanwhile, found it a very consolatory reflec- 
tion that her husband had hastened away from London to 


MARCIA, 


97 


no purpose. She stood in some need of consolation, be- 
cause Archdale’s precipitate exit had provoked her very 
much, and she was not so simple as to believe in the tele- 
gram which he had put forward as an excuse. 

“ I suppose this means that you have turned him out of 
the house, Laura,” she took the first opportunity of saying 
to her friend. 

“ I didn’t exactly turn him out,” Lady Wetherby replied 
composedly, “ but I don’t deny that I requested him to go. 
it was entirely your own fault, Marcia, and I am not a bit 
ashamed of myself ; so you needn’t scowl at me. What 
possessed you to lose yourself with him in the woods ? ” 

“ As if one did that kind of thing on purpose ! I ruined 
my frock, and a new pair of shoes, and now — thanks to 
you — everybody believes that I made that sacrifice for the 
sake of the man whom you have chased off the prem- 
ises ! ” 

“ Do you suppose that they would have believed any- 
thing else if he had remained here ? Nothing that you or 
I could have done would have made them believe that you 
really lost your way ; but I thought to myself, that at least 
I could take measures to prevent the repetition of such a 
disaster, and I took them accordingly. Episodes of that 
kind are disasters, you know, Marcia.” 

Marcia declared that she did not see that at all, and 
added that only those amiable persons who were always 
hoping that some disaster might happen to their neighbors 
would take such a view of an every-day occurrence. She 
was much incensed against her friend, who ought, she 
thought, to have stood by her more loyally, nor was she 
best pleased with Archdale for submitting with meekness 
to a sentence of banishment. However, she forgave him 
when she took into account the absolute impossibility of 
staying in a house of which the mistress has requested 
you to quit it ; she was, besides, all the more ready to for- 
give him because she felt sure that he must have gone 
away very reluctantly. In the course of a day or two she 
felt able to forgive Laura also, seeing that there was, after 
all, some justification for the scruples of a lady who was 
nothing if not conventional : she did not, however, forgive 
Eustace, for whose insulting innuendoes she could find no 
justification at all. 


7 


98 


MARCIA. 


Poor Mr. Brett did not deal in innuendoes, and certainly 
had not meant to be insulting. He only wrote once from 
Lynton to his wife, and that was merely to say that he 
would expect her upon the date which she had named. So 
luckless was he, that Marcia, instead of giving him credit 
for unselfishness, took this to be but one more proof of 
his utter indifference. “ All he cares for is to avoid scan- 
dal,” she thought. “ Now that he knows Mr. Archdale is 
out of the way, he wouldn’t mind if I remained out of the 
way too until Doomsday.” 

Nevertheless, the day upon which she set out from We- 
therby to join him was a joyful day for her ; for, although 
there might be no love lost between her and her husband, 
there was love enough for twenty between her and her son, 
whom she was going to meet. At least, she hoped that 
there was. In her case, at all events, separation had 
brought about no lessening of affection ; but of course she 
could not feel quite so sure of Willie as she did of herself. 
A boy when he goes to school, like a girl when she is 
introduced to society, turns over a fresh leaf in the book 
of life ; he learns a great deal of which he has hitherto 
been ignorant or has but dimly suspected ; he sees the 
world and humanity with other and clearer, perhaps also 
with sadder eyes ; all of a sudden he becomes a rudiment- 
ary man, and in putting away childish things he sometimes 
puts away childish love and faith with the rest. And to 
Marcia, who could not know this by experience, but 
divined it by the aid of that maternal instinct which never 
errs, was nervous and flustered when the train drew up at 
Farnborough Station. 

But there was Willie waiting for her, with his portman- 
teau and hat-box, and as soon as he caught sight of her, 
his round face became illumined with smiles, and a minute 
later she was kissing him and crying over him — though 
there was nothing to cry about — and she knew before he 
opened his lips that he was her own dear boy still, and 
that this first contact with a world which is full of ugly and 
disheartening experiences had not changed or spoilt him. 

Of course she had taken very good care to bribe the 
guard to keep the carriage to herself. Presently she made 
Willie stand away from her, and surveyed him critically 
from head to foot. 

“ You have grown quite an inch,” she said, and you 
are improved — oh yes ! you are improved. You look 


MARCIA. 


99 


Stronger, and your shoulders are broader \ I think you will 
be a tall man. Ah ! well, I suppose I shall always wish 
you were back in petticoats again ; still it’s something to 
have a son big enough to take care of his poor old mother. 
Now tell me all about yourself and what you have been 
doing ; for I have heard nothing yet. You don’t write at 
all nice letters, do you know ? ” 

The boy laughed, flung himself down beside his mother, 
and, putting his arm round her waist, laid his head upon 
her shoulder just as he had been wont to do in former 
times. 

“ One can’t say things in letters,” he answered ; what 
do you want to know ? ” 

She wanted to know everything. Who were his friends ? 
had the boys bullied him at first ? had he fought any of 
them? was he getting on well at cricket? And then, as 
an afterthought, she inquired whether he was taking home 
a good report from the head-master. “ Because your 
father is sure to ask about that at once and make a fuss if 
it isn’t perfectly satisfactory.” 

Fortunately, Willie was able to reply that his father 
would have no cause to complain of the report that he had 
in his pocket ; and this was the sole allusion made to Mr. 
Brett in the course of a long and happy afternoon. In 
answer to the other questions put to him, Willie had a 
great deal to say ; and all that he said was delightful to 
listen to, not only because he incidentally revealed his 
capacity to take care of himself and hold his own amongst 
his companions, but because it was so evident that his 
mother still held the first place in his heart. It gave her 
.a passing spasm of pain at her own to remember that slie 
had sometimes forgotten him when she had been enjoying 
herself ; indeed, that she had tried to enjoy herself in 
order to forget him ; whereas he had always been thinking 
of her, and had treasured up the incidents of his best days 
to relate to her. But now she was reassured ; she would 
never try to put her boy out of her mind again ; his love 
was sufficient for her, and so long as he cared for her it was 
little enough that she would trouble her head about Mr. 
Archdale or anybody else whose friendship might have 
seemed worth having as a pis-aller. 

And, being thus light-hearted and content, she was less 
cold than she had intended to be when, after the long drive 


I(X) 


MARCIA. 


from Barnstaple to Lynton, they reached their temporary 
home, and discerned the tall spare figure of Mr. Brett, who 
had walked out to the gate to meet them. 

“ Here we are, Eustace,” she said, jumping out of the 
carriage, “ and we are dying of hunger ; so I do hope you 
have ordered an enormous dinner for us. What a pretty 
place !, ” 

“ I am glad you think so,” Mr. Brett replied, with his 
grave smile. 

It was unquestionably a pretty place, and if Marcia 
admired it in the twilight, she admired it still more the next 
morning, when a fresh breeze was blowing in from the 
Atlantic, and when she looked from her bedroom window 
upon the sunlit expanse of sea and the towering headlands 
of the coast line. The house which Mr. Brett had taken 
stood upon the very verge of the cliff outside Lynton and 
was surrounded by a small garden, where only a few flower- 
ing shrubs had managed to survive the fury of the pre- 
vailing gales. Far beneath lay Lynmouth, a confused mass 
of dwellings, collected round the mouth of the little river 
whence the town takes its name, and by stretching out of 
the window and turning her gaze inland, Marcia could 
catch a glimpse of the woods through which the Lyn hur- 
ries down towards the sea. Her first thought was that 
she and Willie would have some happy days and walks 
together, boating and fishing; and her second — which 
made her smile — was that Eustace would very soon have 
had enough of Lynton. Eustace did not care for sailing, 
was not an angler, and had no taste for country walks. 
It seemed reasonable to expect that he would ere long find 
himself irresistibly attracted towards the city which he 
could not ask his wife to inhabit during the summer and 
autumn. 

She had forgotten that Mr. Brett knew how to ride. Her 
forgetfulness was excusable, because this was an accom- 
plishment which he rarely displayed, and in which he could 
scarcely be said to excel. He had, however, bethought 
him that Willie would like to have his pony, and he had 
had one of the carriage horses sent down for his own use ; 
and so it came to pass that on the very first day the father 
and son went out together for a gallop over the moor, and 
Marcia was left out in the cold. This was a disappoint- 
ment ; but she bore it uncomplainingly. She wanted the 


MARCIA, 


loi 


boy to enjoy his holidays, and she wanted him to acquire 
some knowledge of horsemanship. After all, if he had not 
gone out with his father, he would have gone out with the 
groom, and she would have been equally deprived of his 
company in either case. What she had not reckoned upon 
(for how was she to know that hunting ever took place in 
summer ?) was that the Devon and Somerset hounds would 
advertise two meets in the neighborhood in the course of 
the ensuing week, and that Willie would be wild with ex- 
citement at the thought of a run with them. On the first 
occasion he and Mr. Brett were absent from early morn- 
ing until dinner-time, when they returned weary but 
triumphant, having seen plenty of sport and passed through 
some thrilling experiences which the boy recounted 
breathlessly. Marcia listened, and tried to be interested, 
and was in some degree interested. She had had a dull 
time of it ; but she would not, perhaps, have resented that 
if the jealousy which was a part of her nature had not been 
aroused by certain evidences of a good-fellowship between 
the father and the son which had never appeared before. 

She astonished Willie that night by entering his bedroom 
just after he had laid his tired head upon the pillow, and 
saying abruptly, “This is what I have always dreaded; 
you care more for hunting than you do for me, and very 
soon you will care more for your father (who cares for 
nobody) than you do for me. Oh, what a miserable thing 
it is to be a woman ! ” 

The boy opened his sleepy eyes wide and the corners of 
his mouth dropped. 

“ What is it. Mummy ? ” he asked in dismay ; “ what 
have I done ? ” 

“ Oh, nothing,” answered Marcia, half laughing, half 
crying, and a little ashamed of herself ; “ it is natural, I 
suppose, and you can’t help yourself. Only, you see, I 
have had a miserable day all alone here, and I had been 
hoping that you would take me out for a sail, and — and — 
oh, well it doesn’t matter ; but, Willie, if you ever love him 
better than me, you will break my heart ! ” 

There was no danger of her heart being broken from that 
cause. She received assurances the sincerity of which she 
could not doubt, and on the following day it was to Mr. 
Brett that the part of odd man out was assigned ; for Wil- 
lie and his mother, having obtained the requisite permis- 


102 


marT:ia. 


sion, went off up the river with a fishing-rod and a luncheon 
basket, and only reappeared at nightfall. Doubtless there 
was some lack of generosity in the satisfaction which Mar- 
cia felt on noticing that her husband was in one of his most 
querulous moods ; but it is only human to desire that others 
should experience what they have inflicted on ourselves, 
and have an opportunity of judging how they like it : 
besides, she meant to be very generous on the morrow, 
which was the day appointed for the second meet of the 
stag-hounds. She had made up her mind that she would 
not grumble at being left, that she would fill up the day by 
clearing up arrears of correspondence, that she would per- 
haps go out for a walk in the afternoon, and would rejoice 
unselfishly in the thought that Willie was having a fine 
time of it. 

But when, quite at variance with her custom, she came 
downstairs early to give the sportsmen their breakfast, lo 
and behold Willie had not donned the cords and boots of 
which he was so proud ! and presently he announced 
quietly, in answer to some remark of Mr. Brett’s, that he 
was not going to hunt that day ; he was going to take his 
mother for a sail instead. 

Mr. Brett frowned and assumed the aspect which was 
familiar to unfortunate persons who knew that it meant 
“ forty shillings or a month.” 

“ You must not get into the way of being capricious, Wil- 
lie,” said he ; “ that is a privilege which is supposed to be 
reserved for ladies. The horses have been ordered and we 
shall have to start in ten minutes.” 

The boy looked down without replying, and after a pause 
Marcia — though she knew she ought to hold her tongue — 
could not help pleading, “ But if he doesn’t want to go, 
Eustace ! ” 

Mr. Brett smiled somewhat disagreeably and said, “Is 
it not rather you who do not want him to go ? However, 
I will leave the choice to him this time. You can hunt or 
sail to-day as you' please, Willie; only you must clearly 
understand that if you decide upon sailing I shall not take 
you out with the hounds again. Boys must learn to know 
their own minds.” 

He was neither a cruel nor a stupid man ; but there was 
some defect in his perceptions which sometimes caused him 
to do cruel and stupid things. He really believed that he 


MARCIA, 


103 


was right to place the boy in that dilemma ; he did not 
understand that no human being with a particle of spirit 
could yield to such a threat. 

Willie raised his eyes, which expressed some regret, a 
little compunction and a touch of perplexity, but answered 
without hesitating, “ I’d rather go out sailing, please.” 

“ Very well,” returned his father briefly, and at once left 
the room. 

Marcia caught the boy’s hand and pressed it to her lips. 
“ Oh how good you are to me ! ” she exclaimed. Her face 
was beaming with joy and triumph ; probably that moment 
was one of the happiest that she had ever known. 

Willie laughed and looked pleased ; yet it was evident 
that his mind was not quite easy nor his pleasure wholly 
unalloyed. “ I say,” he asked, after Marcia had been 
expatiating for some minutes upon the fun that was in store 
for them, “ do you think he was awfully sold ? ” 

“ Who ? — Your father ? I hope he was, for I am sure 
he deserved to be. I never heard of anything so shabby 
as his saying that he wouldn’t take you out hunting again. 
But he will when the time comes ; we needn’t bother about 
that now. And don’t you flatter yourself that he will miss 
you ; it is only I who am wretched when you are out of 
sight.” 

Well, I don’t know,” said Willie musingly; “he was 
quite — quite jolly, you know, the other day while the 
hounds were running.” 

Marcia burst out laughing. “ Eustace Jolly ! Well let 
us hope that he will be jolly again to-day when he joins 
them ; for I suppose he intends to go.” 

Mr. Brett, however, had no such intention, and Willie 
guessed that, though his mother did not. Nor, in all pro- 
bability, did she guess that the poor little fellow had made 
what for him was a very great sacrifice in order to please 
her. It was her nature to accept sacrifices, sometimes even 
to demand them, and in this little scene, which had brought 
the character of the three persons concerned so singularly 
into prominence, she had comprehended only one point — 
but that, to be sure, was a most important one — ^that Willie 
loved her best. 


104 


MARCIA, 


CHAPTER XIII. 

THE APPROACH OF THE INEVITABLE. 

Amongst the various accomplishments which Willie Brett 
had acquired — for he was a steady and painstaking lad — 
that of sailing a boat was not one. However, anybody 
can run before the wind, and the light north-westerly 
breeze which took him and his mother out of Lynmouth 
harbor served them very well for a couple of hours, by the 
end of which time they had progressed for a considerable 
distance down the coast. Marcia was as happy as a child, 
and when she was happy her conversation was apt to be as 
spontaneous and unthinking as that of children generally 
is and always ought to be. She was a good deal more 
childish than her son, who listened to what she had to say 
with curiosity and with some sadness. In certain ways 
he was wise beyond his years, in others he was not : so 
that, although he was quite aware that his father and 
mother did not get on well together, he failed to draw the 
deductions which more experienced persons might have 
drawn from the circumstance that the latter did not dis- 
guise the melancholy fact, whereas the former never alluded 
to it. 

“ When you are grown up,” Marcia was saying, “ we 
will travel about together and amuse ourselves. I want 
to see Russia and Greece and Egypt and heaps of places ; 
but it would be no fun to go there with your father, who 
would be bored to death the whole time. I often wonder 
what made me marry your father ! ” 

“Would you rather have married somebody else?” 
asked Willie, after a moment or two of grave reflection. 

Marcia laughed. “ Oh, I don’t know. No ; nobody in 
particular. But girls are such idiots — worse even than 
men, which is saying something. I suppose I thought it 
was rather a feather in my cap to have captured an admirer 
whom nobody else could capture; I didn’t ask myself 
whether he was worth capturing. How horrified your 


MARCIA. 


105 


Aunt Caroline would be if she could hear me talking to you 
in this way ? ” she added presently. “ I daresay it is very 
wrong of me ; only I can’t help it. I am not going to be 
a humbug with you, whatever I may be with the rest of 
the world.” 

No wonder the boy loved her all the more for her frank- 
ness, and no wonder he came to the conclusion that his 
father was wholly and solely to blame for an estrangement 
which seemed to him to be deplorable. It was an impression 
which never became quite obliterated, and although in 
after years his reason sometimes convicted him of injustice, 
his heart always remained on the side of the affectionate, 
impulsive, selfish woman for whom his sentiments were 
fraternal rather than filial. Even now he thought it right 
to pave the way for a possible disappointment by reminding 
her that when he was grown up his time would not be his 
own. He was going to be a soldier, he informed her, and 
the movements of soldiers were, of course, a good deal 
hampered by the claims of their Queen and their country. 
“ But when I get leave we’ll go off on the spree, some- 
where,” he added encouragingly. 

“ 1 wish you were not going to be in any profession ! ” 
sighed the foolish Marcia. “It is having a profession that 
makes men so hard-hearted. They know that, whatever 
happens, they have that to fall back upon, whereas we 
have nothing. However, we needn’t bother ourselves 
about the future yet ; it is still a long way off, thank 
Heaven ! ” 

And indeed the present soon became sufficiently in- 
interesting to engage all their attention ; for the wind, 
after dropping, veered a point or two to the east of north 
and freshioned considerably ; in so much that the stolid, 
somnolent boatman who had accompanied them expressed 
doubts about their getting back into harbor by sunset. 
They had sailed and drifted a long way down channel by 
this time, and Willie’s nautical capacities were hardly equal 
to making the most that could be made out of a dead foul 
breeze. Moreover, a lumpy sea was getting up which 
neither he nor his mother altogether relished. 

They both behaved as well as people who are going to 
be sea-sick can be expected to behave. They did not say 
much ; from time to time they exchanged glances which 
were at first interrogative then despairing ; finally the 


io6 


MARCIA. 


proprietor of the craft took the tiller, and they sank into that 
state of total indifference and degradation at which few of 
us are entitled to sneer. For how long they underwent the 
misery of beating towards their destination and receiving 
occasional drenching showers of spray they neither knew 
nor cared. Naturally it seemed like a life-time, and not less 
naturally they remained entirely oblivious of Mr. Brett and 
the anxiety from which he might be supposed to be suffer- 
ing by reason of their protracted absence. But when at 
length they reached Lynmouth in the twilight there was 
Mr. Brett waiting for them on the landing steps, and, 
notwithstanding their forlorn and draggled appearance, 
it was little enough sympathy that he had at their service. 

“ Dinner was ready more than an hour ago,” was his 
greeting, spoken in a very harsh tone of voice. “ Really, 
Marcia, this kind of thing must not occur again. I thought 
you must have been drowned.” 

“ We have been much worse than drowned,” returned 
Marcia dolefully ; “ we have died a hundred deaths ! As for 
its occurring again, you may make your mind easy about 
that; I have had enough of boating to last me to my 
dying day. Now, if you want to scold, Eustace, you can 
scold ; but you may just as well spare yourself the trouble, 
for we are absolutely callous. We don’t want any dinner ; 
we don’t care whether you are hungry or not ; we don’t 
care a penny about anybody or anything in the wide 
world.” 

Mr. Brett was very cross, and would have liked to 
relieve his feeling by scolding the delinquents a little ; but, 
under the circumstances, he could only hold his peace, 
and they all walked up the hill to Lynton in solemn silence. 
As, however, his wife, in spite of what she had said, 
proved able to eat a tolerably good dinner, he thought 
that, after Willie had gone to bed, he might without 
brutality give utterance to certain reflections over which 
he had been brooding throughout the day. 

“ I confess that your conduct to-day seems to me to 
have been a little inconsiderate, Marcia,” he began ; “but 
I won’t dwell on that ; you would, of course, only point 
out to me that you have no control over the elements. 
Still, I should like to ask you just this : What object can 
you possibly have in thwarting me when I try as well as I 
can to gain some share of our boy’s affections ? I know 


MARCIA, 


I07 

Well enough — and so do you — that the utmost I can hope 
to obtain is a very small share of them. Why should you 
grudge me that? Seriously, do you think that our life, 
which is already so pleasant, will be made pleasanter when 
you have broken the one link which still binds you and me 
together ? ” 

“ Oh, you consider, then, that Willie is the only link 
which still binds us together? It is candid of you to say 
so, at all events, and, after such a polite speech as that, I 
wouldn’t for the world try to snap it. At the same time, 
I don’t see why I should be accused of such sinister de- 
signs because I took Willie out in a boat with me for once. 
Didn’t you take him out hunting the other day ? ” 

“ Yes ; and for that reason you prevented my taking him 
again. We will not exchange recriminations, nor, I think, 
would there be much use in affecting to ignore the obvious 
truth — which is, that we have next to nothing in common. 
This may be my fault, or it may be yours, or there may be 
faults on both sides ; we need not discuss a question to 
which no satisfactory answer is likely to be found. But 
you might answer the question which I have just put to 
you ? Is it worth your while to poison the boy’s mind 
against me for the sake of making my life a little more 
wretched than it is ? ” 

If there was anything pathetic in this appeal, Marcia 
failed to detect the pathos ; she was only irritated and 
angered by reproaches which seemed to her quite unde- 
served. “ You don’t really believe that I have poisoned 
Willie’s mind against you, Eustace,” she returned, “and 
you don’t really care whether he is fond of you or not. I 
can’t help your life being wretched ; it is you yourself who 
have chosen to make it so, and I suppose what you mean 
is* that you would like to make mine wretched too. Well, 
it isn’t particularly happy, I must admit. Every word that 
you have been saying to me I might have said to you, and 
with a good deal more justice. I have never attempted to 
thwart you in any way ; but of late you have done all in 
your power to thwart me, and I can’t imagine any other 
cause for this sudden anxiety of yours to make friends with 
Willie.” 

Mr. Brett made a gesture of impatience and weariness. 
“ Well, well,” said he ; “ we will drop the subject. I 
wish you were less perverse, Marcia : but I will make no 


MARCIA, 


loS 

more efforts to overcome your perversity. I shall, how- 
ever, make some efforts to be more successful as a father 
than I have been as a husband.” 

The poor man’s chance of success in either character 
was but small. Heaven having denied him the gift of sym- 
pathy ; but after this he took great pains to give Willie 
pleasure. He felt bound to keep his word and eschew 
hunting ; but the boy and he had some long rides together, 
which both of them enjoyed, and in the course of which 
they became a shade more intimate than they had pre- 
viously been. He was quite right in believing that Marcia 
grudged him even this modest victory ; her restless jealousy 
was for ever upon the alert ; there was a perpetual rivalry 
and antagonism between her and her husband ; nor did 
she breathe freely until the latter, after a holiday which 
had lasted barely a month, returned to London, leaving 
her in sole charge of the subject of their contention. 

A brief period of happiness followed ; but this was 
clouded towards its close by the shadow of the imminent 
parting. ‘‘ I shall miss you a thousand times more than 
you will miss me, Willie,” sighed Marcia, when the day 
appointed for the reassembling of the Farnborough school 
came ; and she was glad to see how serious and sorrowful 
he looked as he replied — 

“ Oh, no, you won’t. You are going to stay with your 
friends and have lots of fun ; I haven’t anything to look 
forward to, except football and the Christmas holidays.” 

Well, it was doubtful whether much fun was in store for 
her : but as it was always the case at that time of year, she 
had received invitations from many country houses, and of 
course she could neither join Mr. Brett in London nor 
remain at I^ynton all by herself. Her first move was 
into Wiltshire, where she formed one of a large party and 
encountered numerous London acquaintances who were 
delighted to see her. From thence she went on to Dorset- 
shire, Hampshire, and Kent, meeting everywhere with a 
warm welcome ; for she was popular, by reason not only 
of her beauty but of her admirable social qualities, and, 
since popularity was as the breath of her nostrils to her, 
she could not feel very low-spirited, notwithstanding the 
good reasons which she conceived that she had for bein<; 
so. One of these undoubtedly was that in the course of 
her peregrinations she heard nothing at all about Archdale. 


MARCIA. 


109 


She had more than half expected that he would take the 
trouble to find out what her movements were likely to be, 
and would have made his own coincide with them, and she 
felt it as something of a slight that he had neglected to do 
this. Had he put in an appearance at any of the houses 
where she was visiting, she would in all probability have 
given him to understand that she was annoyed with him 
for pursuing her ; but as he did not, she thought a good 
deal more about him than she would otherwise have done, 
and allowed herself some bitter mental strictures upon the 
instability of men's friendship. Moreover she experienced 
a great longing to tell some sympathizing person how very 
unkind Eustace had been to her throughout the summer. 
She had an uneasy desire to hear Eustace condemned and 
her own opinion of him confirmed ; for the truth was that 
her opinion of him — or at least what she imagined to be 
her opinion — had changed very much for the worse of late. 
If she had never loved him, she had not hitherto disliked 
him ; but now she occasionally felt something very like 
hatred for the cold, dispassionate man who had weighed 
her in the balance and found her wanting, and who, as she 
was persuaded, would be only too thankful to get rid of her, 
if such a proceeding could be made to accord with his 
Pharisaical notions of morality. She herself, being by no 
means pharisaical, often wished that an amicable separation 
could be arranged. By his own confession, Willie was 
their sole remaining bond of union, and, although he had 
deprecated the severing of that bond, she was very sure 
that his wish to maintain it arose from no sentiment of 
natural affection. There were moments when she felt as if 
it would be almost impossible for her to continue living 
with Eustace. Yet he had not altered ; his virtues and 
his failings were just what they had been from the first. 

She put off her return home from week to week ; but at 
last she could postpone it no longer, and early in Novem- 
ber she arrived in Cornv/all Terrace to find her husband 
looking a little older, a little more tired, and a little more 
cross than he had done in the summer. 

“ Now that you have arrived, Marcia," was his greeting, 
“ I trust that I shall sometimes be provided with a dinner 
which I can eat. As you know, I am easily satisfied ; but 
the food which has been set before me lately has been 
simply unfit for human consumption, and no attention 
whatsoever has been vouchsafed to my remonstrances." 


110 


MARCIA, 


Marcia shrugged her shoulders. “ Why didn^t you dis- 
miss the cook, then ? ” she asked. That a good wife is 
before all things and above all things a good housekeeper 
was a view which he had frequently expressed and with 
which she had never agreed ; but she had not at any pre- 
vious time gone so far as to stigmatize it inwardly as a 
barbarous and revolting view. At that season of the year 
she had comparatively few friends in London and dined at 
home on most nights of the week, so that she could judge 
for herself of the cook’s performances as well as listen to 
her husband’s comments upon them. Very terrible those 
tHe-d-tHe dinners were to her. Mr. Brett, who was 
engaged in writing a pamphlet upon some abstruse point 
of law which seemed to occupy all his thoughts, seldom 
spoke, and did not always remember to answer when he was 
spoken to. The only comfort was that as soon as dinner 
was over he betook himself to his study and was no more 
seen. It was better that he should do that than that he 
should sit gloomily in the drawing-room without opening 
his lips ; still, it was not very amusing to be left entirely 
alone, and Marcia naturally wished that she could think of 
somebody sufficiently interesting to be asked to come and 
relieve her solitude occasionally. 

One afternoon, she was wandering through a picture- 
gallery in Bond Street when she caught sight of a friend 
whom she was so pleased to recognize, that she quite 
forgot certain reasons which she had for being offended with 
him. 

“ Please don’t cut me, Mr. Archdale,” said she, laughing ; 

I really can’t afford to be cut by the only acquaintance 
whom I have come across for three days.” 

The young man started and took off his hat, coloring 
slightly. For a moment he looked quite shy, but quickly 
recovered himself and seemed to be as delighted to see 
Mrs. Brett as he declared that he was. “ I had no idea 
you were in London,” he added. 

“ Where else should I be ? ” she asked. “ Don’t you 
know that I live here ? ” 

“ Oh yes, and so do I, for the matter of that. But it is 
my privilege to be often absent from home, and I fancied 
that it was yours too.” 

I only wish it were ! I have been paying a few visits 
during the autumn, but I have come to the end of them 


MARCIA, 


III 


now, and I have a long period of domestic felicity to 
look forward to. And what have you been doing all this 
time ? ” 

They sat down and he gave an account of himself. He 
had spent part of the summer in Belgium and Holland : 
then he had been at Wetherby, “ working like a horse,” 
and now he proposed to be more or less in London, for a 
good many months to come. “ And you? ” he inquired. 
“ Have you been having a pretty good time of it ? How 
did you like Lynton ? ” 

Marcia made a grimace. “ Lynton was well enough, 
though I didn’t have a particularly good time of it even 
there ; but since my boy went back to school, I have been 
chiefly occupied in counting the days to Christmas. Christ- 
mas is still a long way off,” she added, with a sigh. “ How- 
ever, now that you are here, perhaps you will look in upon 
me every now and then and cheer me up.” 

“ Of course I should like nothing better than to call 
upon you, Mrs. Brett — if I may,” answered Archdale 
somewhat hesitatingly. 

It may seem improbable, but it is nevertheless true, that 
up to that moment Marcia had not given a thought to the 
circumstances under which she had last seen her interlo- 
cutor. When these were recalled to her memory by his 
questioning glance, she was momentarily embarrassed ; 
but she said, with a laugh, “ You may and you must. 
That is, if you care at all about retaining my friendship. 
I couldn’t promise you a very hearty welcome from Mr. 
Brett ; but Mr. Brett only comes home in time to dress 
for dinner, and perhaps you are not overwhelmingly 
anxious to see him.” 

Afterwards she remembered this speech, and wondered 
how she could have said anything so liable to misconstruc- 
tion ; but Archdale seemed to take it quite as a matter of 
course. 

“ I’ll take care to be out of the house before the dressing 
bell rings,” was his reply. “ I shall turn up about five 
o’clock to-morrow, and I’m afraid, if I consult my own 
inclinations, I shall turn up at that hour on most days of 
the week. You will have to give me a hint when you have 
had enough of me.” 

Marcia nodded and smiled. “That is a woman’s privilege,” 
she observed. “ However, you are still better off than we 


II2 


MARCIA, 


are ; because when you are tired of us, you can simply 
drop us, without being reduced to the painful necessity of 
hinting as much. I must go now. Till to-morrow, 
then.” 

So she departed, leaving behind her a man who — per- 
haps for the first in his life — was troubled by conscientious 
scruples. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

A CHOICE OF EVILS. 

It has already been mentioned that Archdale possessed as 
an intimate friend one Mr. Alfred Drake, who occasionally 
did him the honor to borrow a little money of him, and 
sometimes (after a prosperous week at Newmarket or a 
night of luck at a certain club) even went so far as to 
repay the amount. Now it so chanced that on the morn- 
ing after Archdale’s meeting with Marcia Brett, Mr. Drake 
looked in upon his friend, whom he found in a somewhat 
absent and dejected frame of mind; and judging of these 
symptoms by the light of previous experience, he soon in- 
quired : 

“Well, what’s the matter now? Has she thrown you 
over ? Or has the husband kicked you downstairs ? ” 

“ I really don’t know who you are taking about,” 
answered Archdale. 

“ Nor do I, my dear fellow, and I wouldn’t for the world 
be so indiscreet as to ask her name. I suppose it is one 
of them, though.” 

Archdale, who thought highly of Mr. Drake’s shrewd- 
ness and common-sense, not unfrequently asked that gen- 
tleman’s advice, which of course was quite another thing 
from taking it. He thought he would ask Drake’s advice 
now. 

“ The truth is,” said he, “ that I am in rather a fix. At 
least. I’m afraid I am in some danger of getting into a fix. 
I told you some months ago about Mrs. Brett, you know. 
Well, in the beginning of the summer I met herat Wether- 
by, where she was staying, and where, as I think I must 
liave mentioned to you, I had a commission to execute. I 


MARCIA. 


113 

didn’t see very much of her ; but one evening we went 
out for a walk after dinner, and unluckily we missed our 
way, and came back rather late. So then there was a — I 
don’t exactly know what to call it.” 

Mr. Drake had lighted a ciger and had selected the 
most comfortable chair that he could find. “ A shindy } ” 
he suggested blandly. 

“ Oh, no ; nothing of the sort. But Lady Wetherby got 
up on her hind-legs, and said that sort of thing wouldn’t 
do, and she must request me to go away and stay away 
until Mrs. Brett had left. So I went.” 

“ So I should imagine. People generally do go away 
when they are turned out of the house.” 

“ Well, of course. But the fact is I couldn’t help feeling 
that Lady Wetherby was right. It seems that old Brett 
was getting jealous — and — and he’s a horrid old brute, and 
of course she must hate him.” 

Archdale paused, and Mr. Drake, for some reason or 
other, laughed. 

“ Now I want you to understand just this,” resumed 
the former presently : “ nobody could have behaved better 
than I have about it. I saw that I ought to make myself 
scarce, and I did. I haven’t written to her, I haven’t at- 
tempted to see her or find out where she was, — though I 
I don’t mind telling you that I have been simply dying for 
news of her all this time, — it wasn’t any fault of mine that 
I came across her yesterday at a picture gallery, and that 
she asked me to go and see her. Now, what is one to do 
in such a case as that ? ” 

“ Oh, I know what you’ll do,” answered Drake unhesita- 
tingly ; “you’ll go and see her. You’ll be a fool for your 
pains ; but I daresay you know that as well as I do. No- 
thing that I can say will prevent your going ; but one 
precaution I do beg of you to take otherwise there’s no 
knowing what trouble you may not get into : don’t make 
any mystery of your visit. If I were in your place, I 
should leave a card for the husband.” 

“ I don’t think you quite understand my difficulty ; I 
was thinking of her, not of any possible future discomfort 
to myself. * My feeling is that, for her sake, it might per- 
haps be better that we should not meet just at present. 
And yet ” 


8 


MARCTA, 


114 

“Oh, I see!” said Drake, laughing; “these are the 
penalties that one has to pay for being so irresistible. 
Well, you are merciful, my dear boy, if you aren’t over and 
above modest, and these scruples are most creditable to 
you, Tm sure. -Only, as there isn’t the very slightest chance 
of your acting upon them, I don’t know that they will be 
of much practical use to you or Mrs. Brett or anybody 
else.” 

“ I suppose that means that if you were in my place you 
would call.” 

“ I think I told you what I should do if I were in your 
place. I should call — and I should leave a card for Mr. 
Brett.” 

That was enough for Archdale. He called at Cornwall 
Terrace the same afternoon, and if he did not leave a card 
for Mr. Brett, he only refrained from doing so in obedience 
to a hint which he could not disregard. 

“ I shall not tell my husband that you have been here,” 
Marcia informed him laughingly. “ My husband, I am 
afraid, is not precisely devoted to you, and perhaps it would 
be hardly worth while to let him know that you are in 
London.” 

The speech, though doubtless unwise, was scarcely un- 
pardonable. Archdale accepted it as merely an additional 
proof of Mrs. Brett’s candor and innocence ; and notwith- 
standing his disinclination to involve himself in what to 
many persons might wear the appearance of a perilous in- 
trigue he repeated his visit the next day, and the day after 
that, and every day. Marcia made no secret of the pleasure 
that it gave her to see him. Sometimes during the preceding 
season she had thought him a little bit wanting in delicacy, 
perhaps a shade vulgar; but she did not think him so now. 
He seemed to have a perfect understanding of her situation 
and her trials ; she could see that he was very sorry for 
her, although he refrained from saying as much in plain 
words, and if she could see a little more than that, how 
was the poor fellow to help himself? There are certain 
emotions which it is really impossible to conceal, and the 
utmost that can be required of any frail mortal is that he 
should keep silence with reference to them. 

Archdale kept silence with his tongue and only spoke 
with his eyes ; so that Marcia was almost as sorry for him 
as she was for herself, or as he was for her. Perhaps, too, 


MARCIA, 


*15 

she rather enjoyed the quasi-clandestine character of their 
interviews, which invested them with something of the 
glamour of romance. 

“ I often wish I were dead ! ” she sighed, one afternoon, 
when he was sitting, as usual, beside her tea-table. “ I 
have made an utter fiasco of my life, and Providence 
doesn’t allow us a chance of profiting by our experience. 
It would have been a great deal better never to have been 
born than to be as discontented as L am.” 

“ I wish ” — began Archdale, and then stopped short. 

“ Well ? ” said Marcia interrogatively. 

“ Oh, I was going to say a very shocking thing ; I was 
going to say that I wished Mr. Brett had never been born. 
But perhaps, after all, that is wishing him no evil, and 
perhaps it isn’t wishing myself any good. I suppose, if 
you hadn’t married him, you would have married some 
other brute.” 

This, of course, was tantamount to a declaration ; but 
Marcia was accustomed to such innuendoes and was not 
embarrassed by them. “ Do you think I have an uncon- 
querable predilection for brutes, then ? ” she asked smil- 
ingly. 

“ No ; I only meant to say that you would have married 
somebody whom I should have considered a brute. All 
men are more or less of brutes. I’m afraid, and certainly 
no man is good enough to be your husband, Mrs. Brett.” 

To some people sweet things are poison, while others, of 
more robust constitution, swallow them and enjoy them 
and appear to thrive upon them. Marcia, who belonged 
to the latter class, was not repelled by the above some- 
what sweeping assertion, and was about to make an appro- 
priate rejoinder when the door was suddenly thrown open 
and Lady Brett was announced. 

The virtuous Caroline sailed up the room, holding out 
both her hands, as her habit was. It was also a habit of 
hers to kiss her sister-in-law, who did not like that cere- 
mony, but submitted to it and wiped away the traces 
with her pocket-handkerchief on the earliest opportunity. 
Archdale, looking on, thought to himself that he would pay 
a good round sum to be excused from kissing Lady Brett ; 
but he was in no danger of being placed in any such 
dilemma, and the very cold bow with which his presence was 
acknowledged was a sufficient indication of her ladyship’s 


Ii6 


MARCIA, 


sentiments with regard to him. However, in order to 
remove any possible doubt that might exist upon the point 
Caroline hastened to say : 

“ My dear Marcia, I am only in London for a few days, 
and I am most anxious to hear all your news. Especially 
about poor Eustace, who, I am afraid, is very little the 
better for his short holiday. I hoped that I should find 
you — disengaged.” 

“ I’ll go away,” said Archdale, getting up and laughing. 

But Marcia motioned to him to resume his seat and 
answered : “ Please don’t ; we are not going to talk secrets. 
Indeed, I don’t think I have any news, secret or otherwise, 
to give you, Caroline,” she added. “ Eustace, to the best 
of my belief, is neither better nor worse than he was 
before we went to Lynton. He wasn’t ill then, and he 
isn’t ill now.” 

Lady Brett shook her head, smiled sadly and sighed. 

“ Eustace never complains,” she observed ; “ but one 
cannot look at him without seeing that he often suffers. 
Invalids learn to detect symptoms which I daresay are not 
noticed by people in robust health.” 

^ But surely,” exclaimed Marcia, “you don’t call your- 
self an invalid ! I am thankful to say that I am perfectly 
healthy, but I can’t flatter myself that I look as strong as 
you do.” 

A more dire affront could not have been uttered, and of 
that Marcia was perfectly well aware. The fact was, that 
Lady Brett had declared war by ostentatiously turning her 
shoulder towards Archdale, and when once war has been 
declared it is doubtless best to assume the offensive. 

“ It is kind of you to say that, dear,” returned Caroline 
sweetly ; “ only of course you cannot be sincere. The 
doctor was quite shocked when he saw me yesterday, 
though nobody knows better than he what a wretched 
state of health I am in. However, I am so far like Eustace 
that I try to avoid egotism, and I have no doubt that, so 
long as we can manage to get through our daily duties, 
healthy people will give us credit for being as strong as 
they are. You have good accounts of Willie, I hope ? ” 

She remained for about half an hour, being evidently 
determined to outstay Archdale, who was equally deter- 
mined not to be outstayed, and affecting not to notice the 
efforts which Marcia made from time to time to draw hirn 


MARCIA, 


17 


into the conversation. When at length she was compelled 
to take her leave, and when he politely held the door open 
for her, she favored him with another distant salute, but 
ignored his outstretched hand. 

“ Do you know what that woman will do ? ” asked 
Marcia, as soon as Lady Brett was out of the room. “ She 
will feel it her duty to tell Eustace that I see far too much 
of you, and that you ought not to be admitted during his 
absence.” 

“ Oh, I hope she won’t be so ill-natured as that,” 
answered Archdale, who, nevertheless, had an uncomfort- 
able conviction that she would. 

“ Caroline,” answered Marcia, “ is ill-natured enough for 
anything, and she hates me so cordially that if she couldn’t 
find anything true to say against me, she would certainly 
invent something false. But really I don’t care, if you 
don’t.” 

Lady Brett was too good a Christian to hate anybody ; 
what she hated was, of course, the sin, not the sinner. 
Still, sinners must occasionally be made to suffer for their 
sins, and as Marcia had rightly divined, she felt it to be an 
imperative duty to warn Eustace that his domestic happi- 
ness was being trifled with. The letter to that effect 
which she had begun to compose on her way downstairs 
was, however, not despatched; for just as she reached the 
hall-door whom should she encounter but Eustace himself, 
who at that moment was in the act of letting himself in 
with his latch-key. 

She greeted him effusively, drew him into his study and 
administered her little dose of poison in the most affec- 
tionate and considerate way. She was sure he would 
believe her when she said that nothing was further from 
her mind than a desire to make mischief ; yet she could 
not think that his sanction had been given to the very inti- 
mate footing upon which Mr. Archdale stood with poor, 
dear Marcia.” Poor dear Marcia might see nothing wrong 
in what she was doing — very likely she did not — but it was 
not to be expected that she would escape the condemna- 
tion of a censorious world, while there could, unhappily, 
be very little doubt about the interpretation which would 
be placed upon her behavior by a man of Mr. Archdale’s 
character. 

“ And he is here every day ; I ascertained that from — 
from what was said in my presence,” continued Lady 


ii8 


MARCIA, 


Brett, who shrank from confessing that she had stooped to 
make inquiries of the butler. “ I do hope you will be firm, 
dear Eustace, and put a stop to this at once. It will be a 
trial for you to speak to Marcia about it, I know ; but 
sooner or later you will be compelled to speak, and nothing 
is gained by putting off the evil day.” 

Very brief and very chilling were the replies which Mr. 
Brett vouclisafed to his sister-in-law ; yet, such as they 
were, they convinced her that she had alarmed him. “ So 
he didn’t know that that man was in the habit of drinking 
tea at his house every day,” she thought, as she drove 
away. “ I was sure he didn’t ! ” 

Mr. Brett had been ignorant, not only of that, but of the 
fact that Archdale was in London, and it was not an 
agreeable reflection to him that his wife had deceived him 
in the matter. He walked slowly upstairs, wondering 
what he ought to do or say, and disliking intensely the 
situation into which he had been forced by circumstances. 
From such situations few men can extricate themselves 
with dignity, and fewer still with any approach to triumph. 
The majority, it would appear, close their eyes or turn 
their backs and hope for the best. But Mr. Brett, who 
did not belong to the majority, was neither a coward nor 
a humbug. His unswerving custom was to act according 
to his lights and obey the voice of his conscience ; it was 
certain that he would always do what he deemed to be 
right, and scarcely less certain that he would always do it 
in the wrong way. 

His face was very stern and his manner more repellent 
than usual when he entered the drawing-room and held out 
his thin, cold hand to the artist. “ How do you do, Mr. 
Archdale ? ” said he. “ I hear that you have already done 
us the honor to call more than once. I should of course 
have returned your visits if I had been told of them. 
Please accept my apologies.” 

He was painfully conscious of being ridiculous; but he 
did not see how that could be helped. It was essential — 
or at any rate he thought so — that Archdale should be 
snubbed and that Marcia should be put to confusion ; as 
for himself, it was to be presumed that they both despised 
him already ; so that it did not greatly signify what sort of 
figure he might cut in their opinion. He was so far suc- 
cessful that Marcia was visibly confused; but to snub 
Archdale was no such easy matter, 


MARCIA. 


I19 

“ I believe,” replied the latter tranquilly, “ that it is I who 
owe you an apology , Mr. Brett. I ought to have dropped 
a card upon the hall-table as I went out j but I quite forgot 
to do it, and I never dreamt of expecting a busy man like 
you to call upon me. Not that I shouldn’t be charmed to 
see you if you cared to look in at my studio any day. It is 
rather empty just at present, I am sorry to say j still I have 
one or two completed pictures to exhibit, and I should be 
glad to hear your criticisms upon them.” 

“ I am not qualified to criticize pictures,” answered Mr. 
Brett, curtly. 

He remained standing ; so that Archdale, who had 
risen to shake hands with him, could not very well sit 
down again. There was an awkward moment of silence, 
which Marcia terminated by remarking : 

“ Caroline has been here. She came to inquire after 
your health, and seemed to think me very heartless when 
I told her that, so far as I knew, there was nothing the 
matter with you. Perhaps you met her as you came in ? ” 

“ Yes — I met her as I came in,” answered Mr. Brett, 
raising his eyes and looking steadily at his wife for an 
instant. He had no intention of denying that Caroline 
was answerable for so unusual an event as his appearance 
in the drawing-room at that hour. 

Archdale glanced at his watch and said he must be off. 
Perhaps it was not so much bravado as a wish to" appear 
as though he had nothing to conceal that made him add 
on taking leave of Marcia : “ I hope you may be persuaded 
to come and look at my poor daubs some time or other. 
Mr. Brett, I’m afraid, won’t.” 

When the husband and wife were left together, Mr. 
Brett opened fire without delay. “ I cannot allow you to 
go to that man’s studio, Marcia,” said he. ‘‘ I must also 
request that you will cease to receive him here as I under- 
stand that you have been doing lately. I confess that I 
am surprised at your having said nothing to me about 
these visits of his.” 

“ I did not think that you would be interested in hear- 
ing who had called,” answered Marcia. “ You have never 
seemed to be so before. If Caroline says that Mr. Arch- 
dale is to be forbidden the house, of course it must be 
done. Only you must do it yourself, please. I really can- 
not undertake to insult my friends at your bidding or even 
at Caroline’s,” 


120 


MARCIA. 


“ You are not asked to insult anybody, Marcia, nor have 
I the slightest wish to deprive you of the many friends of 
yours who are not my friends. But as regards Mr. Arch- 
dale, I have already given you reasons for avoiding the 
reality or the appearance of intimacy with him. If you do 
not think those reasons good, it would probably be out of 
my power to convince you that they are so. I must, there- 
fore, however reluctantly, claim the authority to which I 
am entitled. But I hope that, for your own sake as well 
as mine, you will not compel me to give any orders upon 
the subject to the servants.” 

“ What do you expect me to do, then ? Am I to write 
to Mr. Archdale and say, ‘ My husband will not allow me 
to receive your visits, which in his opinion are comprom- 
ising me ’ ? ” 

“ 1 should not think that it would be necessary to be so 
explicit. If you yourself desired to get rid of a trouble- 
some acquaintance, you would no doubt find some easy 
and polite way of dismissing him. At any rate, that is a 
matter of detail which I will gladly leave in your hands.” 

Mr. Brett smiled faintly as he spoke, and his smile, 
which was in reality expressive of nothing but relief at the 
thought that he had got through a most distasteful task, 
seemed to Marcia to be one of triumph. 

“ A troublesome acquaintance ! ” she exclaimed. “ Of 
course I could get rid of a troublesome acquaintance ; so 
could any fool. But Mr. Archdale is much more than an 
acquaintance ; he is a friend, who knows that I value his 
friendship, and if I am to cut him in future, he will natur- 
ally demand an explanation. When he does, I shall give 
him the true one.” 

“ Well, I am not prepared to say that that would be a 
bad plan. So far as I am concerned, he is quite welcome 
to the information that I can no longer permit him to be 
my wife’s friend.” 

Marcia, whose nerves had been out of gear for some 
time past, and who was always irritated by her husband’s 
cold impassibility, lost all control over herself. I can’t 
endure this ! ” she ejaculated ; “ it is too insulting and 
humiliating ! If you were jealous I could forgive you, 
though I might think you unreasonable \ but you are not% 
You don’t care one atom for me, or for what may.become 
of me ; it is only that Caroline has frightened you by tell- 


MARCIA, 


I2I 


ing you that you will have a scandal in the family unless 
you mind what you are about. She has no right to say 
such things, and you have no right to believe them — no 
gentleman would. As for me, I am tired of being sus- 
pected and spied upon. I would rather make an end of 
it, once for all.” 

“ You speak harshly and unjustly,” observed Mr. Brett; 
“ but perhaps that is not surprising. When you have had 
leisure to reflect more coolly you will, I hope, see that I 
have simply done my duty, and that I have not deserved 
such language. I doubt whether any protestations of affec- 
tion on my part would be welcome to you ; still, as a mere 
question of fact, you must, I suppose, be aware that all the 
years of our married life have made* no change in my love 
for you.” 

“ It is just possible that you may think you are speak- 
ing the truth, Eustace, I daresay you can always manage 
to persuade yourself that you are speaking the truth. But 
the real truth is that we made a most miserable mistake 
when we married, and that our only chance of escaping 
misery for the rest of our lives is to part. I know what 
you will say : separations are not respectable. All I can 
tell you is that I have done my very best to escape what I 
now feel to be a matter of sheer necessity. I can’t bear it 
any longer ! If I were to continue living with you I verily 
believe I should go mad. We need not quarrel ; but we 
can live apart, and Willie, if you insist upon it, can divide 
his time between us. There is no help for it ; sooner or 
later it must have come to this.” 

Mr. Brett was standing beside the table, slowly turning 
a paper-cutter between his fingers. He answered gravely, 
without raising his eyes : “ I shall never be able to forget 
what you have said, Marcia ; but at present it is impos- 
sible for me to judge whether you are serious, or whether 
you are under the influence of excitement. I will speak 
to you again to-morrow morning before I go out, or on my 
return in the afternoon : just now it would be both useless 
and painful to both of us to prolong this conversation.” 

He left the room at once, while Marcia, wuth tears in 
her eyes and clenched hands, cried aloud : “ I hate him 1 
—I hate him ! ” 

Possibly she did hate him ; in any case she was furi- 
ously angry with him and truly sorry for herself. More-» 


122 


MARCIA, 


over, she was sincere in her belief that she must leave him 
if she wished to retain possession of her senses. There is 
a great deal to be said against amicable separations, and 
there is a great deal to be said against having your arm 
or your leg cut off ; but a choice of evils is among the 
most common of human experiences. 


CHAPTER XV. 

WILLIE DISAPPROVES. 

It is almost invariably the impetuous people who get their 
own way in this world ; but it is to the phlegmatic that 
the majority of victories (that is to say all the unimpor- 
tant ones) fall, and thus the latter usually gain a reputation 
for firmness which it would be ungenerous to grudge them, 
since that represents about the sum of their gains. Mr. 
Brett was so far successful that when Marcia rose on the 
following morning she was suffering from the effects of re- 
action, and was ready to haul down her colors for the__tjme 
being. She had lived long enough to know that a woman 
who is separated from her husband is in^a very false posi- 
tion ; she could not but acknowledge that, as regarded the 
particular point in dispute, Eustace had a better case than 
she could put forward ; she perceived also that so long as 
she remained under his roof it would be impossible for her 
to defy him. She might, indeed, refuse to give her friend 
his dismissal ; but her friend would nevertheless be dis- 
missed. All things considered, therefore, it seemed best 
to sit down and write the subjoined letter : 

“Dear Mr. Archdale, 

“ I am very sorry that I must ask you not to come here any more for 
the present. I have spoken to you frankly — more frankly, perhaps, 
than I ought to have done — about my husband ; so that I daresay you 
will see how it is that I am obliged to make this inhospitable request. 
I would rather not say any more than this about it ; only I hope you 
will understand that I do not wish our acquaintanceship to cease, 
llie loss of your visits will be a very real loss to me ; but it is, I think, 
an inevitable one, and all I can tell you is that it will always be a great 
pleasure to me if I should chance to meet you anywhere except in m> 
own house. Believe me, 

‘‘ Very sincerely yours, 

“ Marcia Brett,” 


MARCIA, 


123 


Mr. Brett had left for the police-court before this some- 
what imprudent epistle was composed ; but he returned 
straight home after his day’s work was done, instead of 
going to his club, as usual, and he found His wife waiting 
for him in the drawing-room with the air of a saint and a 
martyr. As was to be expected, the lapse of twenty-four 
hours had exercised a different influence upon him from 
that which it had produced upon her. Without any intro- 
ductory remarks, he began : 

“ I have been thinking over what you said to me yester- 
day, Marcia, and I have been obliged, much against my 
will, to admit that your wish to live apart from me is not 
an unnatural one. I myself have religious objections, which 
I presume that you do not share, to the dissolution of any 
marriage ; but setting those aside, I still think that there 
are others which ought to make you pause before taking a 
step which would be virtually irrevocable. It is only too 
true that we are not in sympathy with one another, and that 
there is little, if any, hope of our ever being able now to 
live together upon such terms as are desirable between 
husband and wife ; but we have to consider our child as 
well as ourselves. It is on his account that I beg you for 
a little forbearance which I would not ask for on my own. 
You must see what a serious misfortune it would be for him 
to know that his parents had quarrelled, and to be com- 
pelled — as, in the nature of things, he would be compelled 
— to take one side or the other. I say nothing of your own 
future as a married woman without a husband ; you have 
probably weighed the advantages against the disadvantages 
of such a position. But I do appeal to you, for Willie’s 
sake, to consider whether some sort of modus vivendi 
cannot be agreed upon between us. I am willing to make 
any concession that I can honestly and honorably make ; 
but, rightly or wrongly, I hold an opinion which I cannot 
change, to the effect that it is a husband’s duty to protect 
his wife from slander ; and that is why I must maintain my 
prohibition against your intimacy with Mr. Archdale.” 

This harangue was delivered in slow, unmodulated 
accents, and gave the impression of having been learnt (as 
indeed it had been) by heart. To Marcia it was offensive 
in a degree which its author, who thought it decidedly con- 
ciliatory, was quite incapable of realizing. 

“ I have written to Mr. Archdale,” she replied, and I 
have told him that I do not wish him to come here any 


MARCIA, 


IU4 

more. I may, and I probably shall, meet him elsewhere, 
and if I do meet him I shall not cut him dead. You will 
hardly expect that of me, I suppose.” 

“No; I do* not expect that; I do not even wish it. 1 
am not sure whether I have made it clear to you, Marcia, 
that this is to my mind a mere matter of expediency. As 
you said yesterday, I am not jealous of Mr. Archdale, and 
I may add that I have confidence in your sense of what is 
due to yourself as well as to me. But neither you nor I 
can afford to despise the gossip of our neighbors.” 

“ Oh I can quite enter into your feelings,” answered 
Marcia, with a touch of scorn, “ and I agree with you that 
we had better keep up appearances as long as it is possible 
to keep them up. Whether it will always be possible is 
more than I can tell yet ; but I will do my best. It seems 
to me that I have been doing my best for a very long 
time, and the result hasn’t been particularly encouraging.” 

Mr. Brett made no rejoinder, having in truth none to 
make. Possibly she had done her best, and possibly he 
had not done his best ; justice forced that unspoken 
admission from him. 

So a reconciliation which was in no true sense of the 
word a reconciliation was patched '’up, and weeks passed 
without any further collision between the ill-mated couple. 
If they were not altogether unhappy weeks for Marcia, it 
must be confessed that the reason why they were not so 
was that she contrived to meet Archdale pretty frequently 
in the course of them. He wrote a very prettily-worded and 
sympathetic reply to her note, in which he said that he 
would be guided entirely by her orders as to their future 
relations, at the same time hinting that if he was to be 
deprived of the solace of exchanging a few words with her 
every now and then, his life, already miserable enough, 
would hardly be worth having. He added that some 
researches which he was making into the method of the 
early Italian school would compel him to spend the whole 
of the following afternoon at the National Gallery. 

Some months earlier Marcia might, perhaps, have 
thought the intimation a trifle impertinent ; but now she 
knew the man, and his impertinences, if such they were, 
had become pleasant to her — as indeed they had to many 
another woman before. She went to the National Gallery, 
and they had a long talk together, in the course of which 


MARCIA. 


125 


a good deal was said that would have been better left un- 
said. She meant no harm ; but she thought that she owed 
a fuller explanation to her friend than she could put upon 
paper, and naturally that explanation included some un- 
flattering comments upon the conduct of her husband. As 
for Archdale, he was in the seventh heaven ; because this 
was exactly the sort of thing in which he delighted. He 
did not wish to get into trouble — but he did wish very much 
to make her understand that he adored her; and if any 
doubt as to that existed in her mind at the close of their 
interview, the fault was assuredly not his. 

After this they met almost daily, sometimes at the Na- 
tional Gallery, sometimes in the Park, and occasionally at 
the house of one or other of their friends ; and the sur- 
reptitious character of these encounters invested them, no 
doubt, with additional charm. Marcia had a certain 
exciting half-consciousness of danger, but it was not until 
within a few weeks of Christmas that she found out all of 
a sudden how real the danger was. She was walking down 
Curzon Street with Archdale, who had kindly offered to 
see her a part of the way home from the house where they 
had both been having tea, when he said casually, “ I am 
rather thinking of spending the rest of the winter in Flo- 
rence and Rome. _How I wish you were going to be there 
too ! ” 

The announcement took her breath away and made her 
heart stand still. In an instant she realized what she had 
never realized before, how much she cared for this man, 
and what a terrible blank his absence would leave in her 
life. For a long , time she had felt that he was her one 
friend, and that only to him could she speak candidly of 
the weariness and discouragement of her existence ; but 
now she knew that he was a great deal more than a friend, 
and that his desertion of her would imply misery far worse 
than anything that she had hitherto imagined to be misery. 
It was not without shame and not without happiness that 
she recognized the truth. It is not permissible that a 
married woman should love any man except her husband ; 
but then again it is not possible to help loving a person 
whom theoretically one has no right to love. More cannot 
be required of human beings — because it would be against 
nature to require it — than that they should conceal their 
feelings. Marcia thought that she was concealing hers 


126 


MARCTA, 


when she remarked, with some slight tremulousness of 
intonation, “ I am sorry you are going away ; I shall miss 
you.” 

“ If I could think that you would really miss me, Mrs. 
Brett,” answered Archdale at once, “ I wouldn’t go. I am 
sure you know without my telling you that so long as you 
are in London I would much rather be where I am than 
in Italy ; but it isn’t always wise to consult one’s own 
inclinations.” 

“ Oh, if it is a question of wisdom ! ” 

“ Well, perhaps it isn’t. I have never pretended to be 
wise, and I am not convinced that I know what constitutes 
true wisdom. But I think I know what constitutes happi- 
ness, and one thing I know for certain, that if by remain- 
ing in England I could increase your happiness in ever so 
small a degree, I should increase my own enormously.” 

“ That is absurd,” answered Marcia laughing. “ Of 
course I shall miss you if you go and I shall be glad if you 
stay ; but I would not for the world think of interfering 
with your plans. Will you call a hansom for me, 
please ? ” 

He did as ne was requested, alid although nothing more 
than has been set down above passed between them, Mar- 
cia knew very well, as she was being driven homewards, 
that Mr. Archdale would not go to Italy. “ I suppose I 
ought to wish him to go,” she thought to herself ; “ but I 
can’t and I don’t ! After, all, what sin can there be in 
seeing him and talking to him every nowand then ? And 
I ask for nothing more. I don’t believe he cares for me a 
tenth part as much as I care for him ; yet if he cares only 
a very little, that is something. At any rate it is all that I 
have to live for.” 

It was all that she did live for just then ; but Willie’s 
return home for the Christmas holidays made a difference. 
For some days after his arrival his mother could only think 
of him, and although it distressed her a little to notice how 
rapidly he was developing both mentally and physically, 
and how independent he was becoming, maternal pride 
consoled her in some measure for the emancipation which 
she foresaw. There was no renewal of the rivalry which 
had subsisted between her and her husband during the 
summer. Mr. Brett, who was much occupied, and whose 
health was once more falling into an unsatisfactory condi- 


MARCIA. 


127 


tion, scarcely noticed the boy ; so that Marcia was not 
only free to keep him with her all day, but could take him 
to the pantomimes in the evening. And she availed her- 
self to the utmost of these privileges. It was too late now 
to say to her heart and her conscience that she loved Willie 
better than everybody else in the world put together ; but 
she did feel that while Willie was with her she wanted no- 
body else. Perhaps also she was aware that his presence 
was a protection against dangers which she did not care to 
contemplate. 

Certainly it was not with the expectation of meeting 
Archdale — because, for some reason or other, she shrank 
from the idea of bringing him and Willie together — that 
she took him to a concert at St. James’ Hall; but, as it 
happened, there Archdale was among the audience, and at 
the first opportunity he left his seat to take one at her 
elbow. 

“ Where have you been hiding yourself? ” he asked in a 
reproachful undertone. “ I haven’t seen you for the last 
hundred years.” 

“ I haven’t hidden myself at all,” answered Marcia 
laughing rather nervously; “but I have been in places 
which I suppose you don’t frequent — circuses and panto- 
mimes, and so on. We have been making the most of our 
Christmas holidays, Willie and I.” 

“ Poor you ! ” exclaimed Archdale. “ How glad you 
must be that Christmas only comes once a year ! ” 

It was scarcely a kind speech to make, but Marcia did 
not resent it because her own temperament enabled her to 
sympathize with the speaker, and because the annoyance 
which she discerned in his face was not unflattering to her. 
Besides, he was justified in looking with jealous eyes upon 
the one and only formidable rival whom he had in the 
world. He retained the disengaged chair of which he had 
taken possession until the end of the performance, and she 
talked to him over her shoulder, and he said a few pa- 
tronizing words to the boy. Marcia was not sorry that an 
encounter which was probably inevitable had taken place, 
and passed off, upon the whole, more smoothly than she 
had ventured to anticipate. However, as Willie walked 
away with his mother he said decisively — 

“ I don’t like that fellow.” 


128 


MAJ^CIA, 


“ Oh, but you must try to like him,” Marcia answered 
anxiously, “ because he is a great friend of mine, and he is 
really very nice. What is it that you dislike in him ? ” 

“ Isn’t he rather a conceited sort of chap? ” Willie in- 
quired. 

“ Oh, dear no ! he thinks nothing of himself, although in 
reality he is one of the most famous artists living. I know 
what you mean, but it is only manner. It comes from 
being so run after and lionized. Anybody else would have 
been spoilt by all the adulation which has been showered 
upon him, but he isn’t in the least. If you knew him bet- 
ter you would find that he hardly ever mentions his pictures, 
and when he does it is only to depreciate them.” 

“I expect he does that because he wants to be contra- 
dicted,” observed Willie, with what seemed to his mother 
to be abnormal precocity. She was not aware — and, for 
that matter, not many people are — that schoolboys can 
perceive the obvious quite as easy as full-grown men, and 
that the characters of men differ from those of boys only 
in a few comparatively unimportant particulars. As, how- 
ever, she knew something of the peculiarities of the male 
sex as a whole, and as her researches had led her to the 
(possibly erroneous) conclusion that we are more preju- 
diced and more obstinate than women, she said nothing 
further on Archdale’s behalf. In truth, she did not greatly 
care whether the two beings whom she loved best on earth 
liked one another or not. It seemed improbable that they 
would ever be brought into close contact, and, as has 
already been said, she was not anxious that they should 
be. 

During the remainder of Willie’s holidays she saw very 
little of Archdale. She did not seek occasions of meeting 
him, nor was she able to respond to certain imploring 
invitations from him which reached her through the post. 
Nevertheless, she missed him ; and it was with surprise 
and contrition that she found herself actually looking for- 
ward to the day when her boy should once more be taken 
away from her. This, more than ^anything else, brought 
home a sense of guilt and shame to her. It is not difficult 
to believe what all women situated as she was wish to believe, 
that love, which is in itself so beautiful and innocent an 
emotion, cannot be wrong, and cannot be quenched ; but 
as soon as the consequences of a love which it is impossible 


MarctA. 


1^9 

to avow become apparent, self-deception becomes less 
easy. If Marcia was conscious of some relief when Willie 
departed for the station in his hansom, this was perhaps 
less by reason of a half-acknowledged longing for freedom 
than because she felt that, come what might, she could 
never bear to be despised by her son. And he was so 
clever and observant that possibly he would have found 
her out and despised her if he had stayed longer. 

Her husband looked at her curiously after dinner that 
night and inquired whether she was feeling ill. 

“ No,” answered Marcia, a sudden flush coming into her 
cheeks. “ Why do you ask ? ” 

“ You have an appearance of feverishness and your 
appetite seems to have deserted you, that is all.” 

“ Of course I am not in the best of spirits now that 
Willie has gone,” answered Marcia irritably. 

“ Oh, is that it? ” said Mr. Brett, in his customary cold 
tone ; “ I didn’t know.” 

She suspected him of making an insinuation to which 
she could not reply, and she hated him for it. In assigning 
an ignoble part to her husband — which she was able to do 
without much insincerity — she found some justification for 
herself. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

MR. BRETT GIVES IN. 

Marcia was quite mistaken in supposing that her hus- 
band suspected her of contriving clandestine meetings 
with Archdale. He suspected nothing, being resolved to 
suspect nothing, and, as far as was possible, he had dis- 
missed the obnoxious artist from his thoughts. To dismiss 
all that she had said to him from his thoughts was not 
possible, and the recollection of it gave him many hours 
of pain ; but just as nine-tenths of us contrive to close 
our eyes to the certainty of death or the probability that 
we have in us the germs of some mortal disease, so he 
refused to contemplate a contingency which he neverthe- 
less secretly dreaded. She did not love him, and she 
might love somebody else. The thing was conceivable ; but 


makcia. 


*30 

he had not — or so he assured himself — any fair grounds 
for believing it to be a fact. Therefore he went on in the 
monotonous routine of his daily life, asking no questions, 
and perhaps thanking Heaven that Caroline was not in 
London to supply him with answers to the queries which 
he so carefully left unuttered. 

But such a state of things never lasts, and never can 
last long. When Mr. Brett was plodding homewards one 
evening, feeling weary and out of spirits, as he generally 
did in those days, he overtook a sauntering couple whom 
he could not help recognizing. As he stepped off the 
pavement to pass them the light of a gas lamp fell full 
upon the features of Archdale ; so that there was nothing 
for it but to stop and say “ How do you do ? ” Archdale 
seemed to be rather taken aback and confused. He ex- 
plained, with somewhat unnecessary eagerness, that he had 
met Mrs. Brett in Oxford Street and had felt bound to 
insist upon seeing her home. Darkness came on so early 
now, and it was really not safe for a lady to be walking 
about alone in the less frequented parts of the town. 

“ We are very much indebted to you,” Mr. Brett replied 
formally; “but we will not take you any farther out of 
your way now. I am glad I caught you up in time to 
spare you an excursion into the unfrequented district 
which we inhabit.” 

The remoteness of Cornwall Terrace, which was one of 
Marcia’s constant subjects of complaints, was rather a 
sore point with him. 

Archdalc, who could scarcely do otherwise, accepted his 
dismissal, and after he had left them the husband and wife 
walked on, side by side, in silence. It was only when they 
reached their own door that Mr. Brett asked coldly, “ Has 
this occurred before ? ” 

“ Has what occurred before ? I don’t know what you 
mean,” returned Marcia. 

“ I merely wished to inquire whether you are in the 
habit of meeting, in the streets or elsewhere, a man whom 
I have been compelled to forbid you receiving.” 

“ I have met him in the street, and I have met him at 
different people’s houses, and I have no doubt that I 
shall meet him again,” answered Marcia, in a tone of 
defiance. “ When I asked you whether you wished me to 
cut him, I understood you to say that you did not. You 
have changed your mind perhaps?” 


MARCIA. 


13I 

‘‘Surely,” said Mr. Brett, “it is possible to steer a 
middle course. Cutting an acquaintance is disagreeable ; 
but I cannot think it would be difficult to make him under- 
stand that his intimacy was not desired. That is, supposing 
him to possess in any degree the feelings of a gentleman.” 

“ I presume that I do not possess in any degree the 
feelings of a lady,” observed Marcia ; “ for I certainly do 
not see my way to treating my friends as you order me to 
treat them. Why don’t you lock me up in my bedroom ? 
There would, at least, be some sense in that, since you 
don’t seem to believe that I can conduct myself with 
ordinary decency when I am out of your sight : but there 
is no sense at all in allowing me a short tether and scolding 
me when I stretch it as far as it will go.” 

They had now entered Mr. Brett’s study. He threw 
himself down in the chair which stood beside his writing- 
table and clasped his hands with a nervous gesture of 
despair. “ Marcia ! ” he exclaimed, “ this is becoming 
intolerable ! ” 

“ Yes,” she returned ; “ it is intolerable. I told you so 
before, and I am glad that you acknowledge it. You are 
not quite in the wrong, nor am I ; but we are neither of 
us quite in the right, and we never can be. It is a case of 
what people call ‘ faults on both sides,’ I suppose, only 
there are some faults that can be forgiven and others that 
can’t. You can’t forgive mine and I can’t forgive yours ; 
so we had better part before we come to blows.” 

She ended with an unsteady sort of laugh which puzzled 
him. “ 1 don’t know how to answer you,” he said, shak- 
ing his head. “ I have tried to consider this question dis- 
passionately ; I am honestly anxious that your life should 
be as happy as circumstances will permit ” 

“ My dear Eustace,” interrupted Marcia, “you are hon- 
estly anxious to be rid of me, and I am honestly anxious 
to be rid of you. Why should we not speak the truth ? ” 

“So far as I am concerned, that is not the truth,” he 
answered — and his voice betrayed that her words had hurt 
him. “ It is not true that I am anxious to be rid of yoir; 
only I so far agree with you that I think it would be better 
for us to live apart than to wrangle. Anything is better 
than wrangling.” 

“ Yes ; anything is better than that. I have been think- 
ing it over too, and I see how impossible it is for us to 


132 


MARCIA, 


continue living together. After all, it is not you who will 
suffer by the separation ; in such cases the woman is 
always blamed.” 

“ Exactly so ; and that is just what makes me hesitate 
to comply with your request.” 

“ You need not feel any scruples on my behalf. I know 
quite well that many people will decline to receive me 
when I have set up an establishment of my own — and I 
don’t care. All I ask for is that Willie shall be allowed to 
spend half of his holidays with me ; you won’t have the 
heart to refuse me that, I suppose.” 

Mr. Brett made an undecided gesture. “ As matters 
stand at present, that sounds a reasonable stipulation,” 
said he. “ Nevertheless, I am compelled to tell you 
that circumstances might arise which would render it in- 
admissible. While you remain with me I have some- con- 
trol over your actions ; I can say to you — and, as you 
know, I have had to say — that this or that person must 
not enter my house ; but if you had an establishment of 
your own, that power of mine would necessarily cease, 
and ” 

He came to such a long pause that Marcia spoke again 
before he could finish his sentence. “ Are you afraid that 
Willie will be contaminated by meeting Mr. Archdale ? ” 
she asked. “ Well I can assure you of this, Eustace — and 
perhaps, as I have never told you a lie, you will believe 
me — I would a thousand times rather be parted for ever 
from Mr. Archdale, much as I like him, than be parted 
from Willie. I would a thousand times rather stay where 
I am than be parted from Willie ; and anything stronger 
than that I could not say ! ” 

“ Then why should we be separated, Marcia ? ” 

“ You yourself have answered that question. Because 
the life that we lead is more than flesh and blood can en- 
dure ; because we haven’t a thought or a wish or a taste 
in common ; because everything that I do exasperates you, 
and everything that you do exasperates me. I have tried 
to be forbearing, and I daresay you have tried too ; but all 
these efforts have been in vain, and we should have ac- 
knowledged it long ago if we hadn’t both of us been rather 
more afraid of Mrs. Grundy than we ought to have been. 
Now we have reached a point at which we can’t help ac- 
knowledging it.” 


MARCIA. 


133 


Mr. Brett sighed, changed his position and cleared his 
voice. (‘^ Oh,” thought Marcia, “ if I gained nothing else 
by leaving him, what a blessing it would be to know that 
I should never hear him clear his voice at me again ! ”) 
Presently he said : “ You may be aware that neither you 
nor I could obtain a legal separation. By private arrange- 
ment we might agree to live apart, and, as your money is 
your own, it would be comparatively easy for us to do so \ 
but there are obstacles in the way of our taking that step 
which, to say the least of them, require consideration. I 
should be obliged, for instance, to give some sort of explan- 
ation to my family.” 

“ In other words, you would like to consult George and 
Caroline. By all means consult them, then. You can tell 
them that I alone am to blame ; but it will not be neces- 
sary for you to tell them that, because they will be quite 
convinced of it in advance. They will pretend to be 
shocked ; but in reality they will be delighted to think 
that I have ruined myself socially, and that I shall be 
seen no more in the great houses to which they can’t get 
invitations. You need not fear any serious opposition 
from them.” 

Mr. Brett winced. He could not deny that he was 
desirous of consulting his brother, nor could he help 
admitting that there was a certain degree of justification 
for Marcia’s sarcasms. Finally he said: “We will speak 
of this again the day after to-morrow, if you please. I 
believe I understand what your wishes are, and if I find 
that I can conscientiously gratify them, I will do so.” 

That a man who was thoroughly straightforward and 
honest should have appeared to her to be a canting hypo- 
crite was not astonishing. Straightforward and honest 
men are not always happy in the phraseology which they 
see fit to adopt, and it is unlikely that Marcia’s verdict 
upon her husband would have been modified if she could 
have overheard a conversation which took place in the 
City on the following day between him and Sir George 
Brett. The younger brother stated his case as impartially 
as it could be stated, and the elder listened to him with a 
lenient, but slightly contemptuous smile. 

“ I don’t want to be rude, Eustace,” was Sir George’s 
comment upon what had been related to him ; “ but the 
long and the short of all this is that you can’t make your 


134 


MARCIA. 


wife obey you. Now Pm not going to give you a word of 
advice one way or the other. I don’t choose to take a 
responsibility which doesn’t properly belong to me ; but if 
you ask me what I think, I don’t mind telling you that in 
my opinion you have made an ass of yourself. It is very 
evident that your wife will get her own way — Caroline, 1 
may tell you, foresaw long ago what the end of it would 
be — and I only hope that nothing more scandalous than an 
amicable separation will come of it. In the event of a 
separation being decided upon — which, mind you, I don’t 
for one moment recommend — I should say that you had 
better allow the boy to see his mother from time to time. 
Still, if I were in your place, I should reserve to myself a 
contingent right of withdrawing him from her altogether.” 

“ Contingent upon what ? ” inquired Eustace, who did 
not quite like his brother’s tone, and had not expected to 
meet with such ready acquiescence in that quarter. 

Sir George drew down the corners of his mouth, raised 
his eyebrows, and jerked up his shoulders. “ Upon Her 
good behavior, of course. Far be it from me to insinuate 
that there is a chance of her behaving badly, but in mak- 
ing arrangements of this kind it is always well to guard 
oneself against painful possibilities.” 

The younger brother went away sad and disheartened, 
nor were his spirits much raised by a very sympathetic 
letter from Caroline which reached him the next morning. 
Caroline took up something the same line as her husband 
had done. She could not advocate the severing of a tie so 
sacred as that of holy matrimony ; yet she was bound to 
confess that if such a proceeding could be allowable in 
any case, it would be in this. For a long time she had 
seen with deep sorrow that Eustace’s health was being 
undermined by the daily worries which he was called upon 
to endure, and that he should by some means or other be 
delivered from these was her earnest desire. She could 
only pray that he might be guided to do what was just and 
right, etc., etc. 

“ Evidently,” thought Mr. Brett, “ she thinks as George 
does, only she is too , merciful to say so. A man who 
cannot make his wife obey him is like a man who cannot 
control his horse ; the best thing he can do is to get out of 
his saddle.” 

The same afternoon he signified his renunciation to Mar- 
cia. “ I may have failed in my duty to you,” he said, I 


MARCIA, 


*35 


can’t feel certain about that ; but what seems to me beyond 
question is that I have failed to make you happy and con- 
tented. There is no hope of my being more successful in 
the future than I have been in the past, so that, after full 
and5> careful consideration, I believe I shall be right in 
acceding to your wish that we should part. Your wish 
remains unchanged, I presume ? ” 

He had a faint hope that she might have thought better 
of it, but of this he was at once deprived. Marcia paid 
little attention to the matters of detail, pecuniary and other, 
which he submitted to her with punctilious exactitude ; her 
only anxiety was with reference to Willie, and as soon as 
she heard that no objection would be raised to the boy’s 
spending at least half of his spare time with her, she declared 
herself abundantly satisfied. 

It would be absurd to say that we shall part friends, 
Eustace,” she remarked ; “ but at least we shall not be 
enemies now, and I should think that will be a relief to you 
as well as to me. You will be able to live your own life, 
and perhaps I shall be able, after a fashion, to live mine.” 

Mr. Brett made an inarticulate murmur which might be 
taken to imply assent. Marcia, he was thinking, had some 
reasonable prospect of a life as happy as that of the majority 
of human beings ; but, for his own part, he could look for- 
ward to nothing but work and solitude, and eventually 
death. And he could not help realizing how greatly 
matters would be simplified, and how resigned to the will 
of Heaven everybody would be, if he were to drop down 
dead there and then. 


CHAPTER XVir. 

ARCHDALE IS INCONSIDERATE. 

• 

Marcia had been determined to get her own way, but she 
had not expected to get it with quite so much ease and 
despatch, and when she sat down alone to think over her 
new position and prospects, her heart failed her a little.. 
She had no feeling of compunction as regarded her hus- 
band, nor any doubt as to the wisdom — at all events, the 
necessity — of the step which had been taken ; yet it was a 


136 


MARCIA, 


prodigious step, entailing all sorts of uncertain conse- 
quences, so that her sensations were somewhat akin to those 
of an explorer who, after long marches, finds himself at last 
upon the shore towards which he has been toiling, and sees 
before him the broad ocean stretching away as far his 
eye can reach. In what kind of craft was she about to 
commit herself to the perils and chances of the deep? 
One thing was obvious, that it would require careful and 
skilful handling. Henceforth strangers would fight shy of 
her ; old acquaintances would happen to be looking at 
something interesting in the opposite direction when she 
approached ; wherever she went she would be known as a 
woman who had been unfortunate in her domestic 
relations, which is almost as heavy a weight to carry as 
that of poverty, and a heavier one than that of personal 
uncomeliness. 

Well, at any rate, she did not labor under either of the 
latter disadvantages, for she had X1500 a year of her own, 
and her mirror still reflected the image of a young and beau- 
tiful woman. It reflected also the image of one who was 
sad and perplexed and perhaps a trifle shamefaced. Why 
was she leaving her husband? Because he was hard and 
cold, because he did not care for her, and because he had 
insulted her by unworthy suspicions ? Marcia was not 
much in the habit of asking herself direct questions, or of 
returning straightforward answers when she did so, but 
now, for some reason or other, she put herself in the 
witness-box, and could not, or did not, blink the truth. 
Eustace might have treated her badly, and indeed she 
thought that he had ; but she had borne with him for many 
years, and could have gone on bearing with him to the end 
of the chapter if she had not lost her heart to another man. 
It 'was her love for Archdale that had rendered a rupture 
inevitable, and in this moment of candid introspection she 
acknowledged it. She resolved, however, that Archdale 
himself should never know this. It was absolutely neces- 
sary that she should break with him. Even if he had been 
no more to her than the friend that he ostensibly was, it 
would have been impossible for her, under the changed 
conditions of her life, to continue upon terms of friendship 
with him and avoid giving grounds for those scandalous 
rumors of which it must henceforth be her chief endeavor 
to steer clear. Cost her what it might, she must say fare- 


MARCIA. 


137 


well to him, and to all that for some time past had made 
the world bright to her. As her plans for the future 
became more matured, she began to see how this might 
most easily be done. That evening she told Mr. Brett, 
who listened to her with frigid courtesy, that she did not 
contemplate setting up an establishment immediately in 
London or elsewhere. 

“It will be less disagreeable for both of us,” she said, 
“ if I do things by degrees, and leave England for the pre- 
sent. People will soon forget us, and stop talking about 
us. I thought of going to Italy for the rest of the winter, 
and perhaps spending next summer in Switzerland.” 

“ I daresay that will be a good plan,” Mr. Brett replied. 

“ My being abroad would not prevent Willie’s coming to 
me for half of his holidays, would it ? Of course I would 
gladly pay his traveling expenses.” 

“ Thank you ; but if you will refer to the paper which I 
drew up for your guidance, you will see that I have pre- 
ferred to undertake charges which, according to my view, 
belong more properly to me than to you. I can only 
relinquish control over my son to the extent agreed upon 
between us ; that is, that, so far as is found practicable, he 
shall be as much with you as with me. As regards the 
Easter holidays, it would, perhaps, be scarcely worth 
while for him to travel so far as to Italy. I would there- 
fore suggest that he should pass that vacation either in 
London or with his uncle and aunt, who have kindly inti- 
mated their readiness to receive him, and that, as a set-off, 
he should be left to you for the whole of the summer holi- 
days. The bargain is, I think, not an unfair one ; but I 
merely put it forward for your approval. In this, as in all 
other particulars, you may rely upon my adhering to the 
strict letter of our agreement.” 

Marcia closed with the offer unhesitatingly. To have 
her boy with her for six clear weeks in the summer would 
be a great deal better than to catch a mere ten days’ 
glimpse of him in April ; besides, she had a disinclination 
to face Willie just at first she wanted him and everybody 
to grow accustomed to the new order of things and to 
accept it as a matter of course. In her weekly letter to 
him she only said that she was going abroad for a long 
time and could not be at home for Easter, but that it had 
been arranged that he should join her in Switzerland in 


MARCIA. 


138 

July, “and then we will have a really good time together. 
I have got a little calendar, and I shall begin marking od 
the days at once. I haven’t had the heart to count them, 
only I see that they fill six columns. But never mind ; 
the longer we have to wait the happier we shall be when 
all these weary weeks have been swept away into the past 
and are done with.” 

When Marcia had finished this letter she had a rather 
more difficult one to write ; but that also she accomplished, 
after wasting a good many sheets of paper over it. 

“Dear Mr. Archdale, 

“ I think I may venture to assume that you will be interested in 
hearing about something which of is very serious interest and impor- 
tance to me ; but, in any case, I should have been obliged to write to 
you for reasons which I will explain presently. It will not be a sur- 
prise to you to be told that my husband and I have decided to live 
apart for the future. We could not have gone on much longer as we 
have been doing lately ; and although there is a great deal to be said 
against separations, there is still more to be said against chaining to- 
gether two people who cannot speak to one another without disagreeing. 
Of course there has been a special cause which has brought matters to 
a climax in our case, and what that is you can easily guess, I would not 
allude to it if I did not feel that we are good friends enough to dispense 
with affectation, and if I did not think that I ought to give you a reason 
for the request which I am compelled to make. It is that you will 
not attempt to see me or speak to me again. I hope and believe that 
you will not misunderstand my motives. I shall probably miss you a 
great deal more and for a much longer time than you will miss me ; 
but, after all that has passed, I could not dare to give my sister-in-law 
and others an excuse for saying horrid things about you and me ; so 
the best plan is to break off our friendship altogether. I am very sorry 
that it must be so. 

“I a few days I shall start for Italy, and I think I shall most likely 
remain abroad for at least a year. Hoping that you will not quite 
forget me, and thanking you for all your kindness and sympathy with 
me in my troubles, 

“ I am, 

“ Very sincerely yours, 

‘‘ Marcia Brett.” 

On reading over this composition, Marcia was by no 
means pleased with it ; but, as many other writers have to 
do in the case of their compositions, she made the best of 
it, because, unsatisfactory though it was, she did not see 
how it could be improved upon. For some reasons she 
could have wished it to be warmer, for others she would have 
preferred it to be colder ; unquestionably it might have been 


MARCIA. 


*39 


better expressed. She supposed, however, that it would 
serve its purpose. What that purpose was, may nqt have 
been absolutely clear to her mind ; but if she knew any- 
thing of Archdale, she must surely have known that he 
would not submit to be banished from her presence for 
ever without a struggle. 

And in fact the very next post brought her a positive 
assurance to that effect. Archdale’s letter was briefy but 
eloquent, and although there was not a word of love in it, 
it breathed of nothing else. He did not protest very much 
against her declaration that their friendship must cease ; 
he seemed to look upon the idea as one so impossible of 
execution as to be hardly worth discussing. What he 
evidently dreaded was that she would hurry away from 
England without according him a farewell interview, and 
it was in appealing to her not to be guilty of such inhuman- 
ity that his most impassioned phrases were en-q^loyed. 
He wound up by begging her to appoint some time and 
place of meeting. 

Now, this was not a very easy request to refuse ; but per- 
haps refusal was rendered a shade more easy to Marcia by 
the writer’s thinly-veiled anticipation that it would be 
granted. Although she could forgive Archdale anything, 
she was not desirous of letting him know how completely 
he had obtained the mastery over her heart, and she 
scarcely dared even to write to him again, lest she should 
betray what it was so essential to conceal. Yet, feeling 
that absolute silence would be almost too cruel, she be- 
thought her of a middle course, and despatched the follow- 
ing telegram : “ Sorry I cannot do as you wish.” That, 
surely, was curt enough and cold enough, without being 
downright brutal. He would understand now that any 
further attempt to break down her resolution would be 
useless j perhaps he would also understand what it had 
cost her to adhere to that resolution. Having thus burnt 
her ships, Marcia locked herself into her bedroom and 
cried for an hour. 

Archdale was not a man of much strength of mind or 
perseverance ; but for that very reason opposition to his 
wishes always aroused such determination as he possessed, 
and this unlooked-for obstinacy on Marcia’s part had the 
effect of making him inwardly register a vow that he would 
see her before she left London, even though he should have 


MA^CtA, 


146 

to resort to the extreme measure of ringing her husband’s 
door-bell for that purpose. But no such act of audacity 
proved to be required. It was growing dusk on the follow- 
ing evening when Marcia, who had been shopping and 
paying bills, was intercepted, as she alighted from her 
brougham in Cornwall Terrace, by a gentleman, who raised 
his hat and said, “ May I speak to you for one moment, 
Mrs. Brett ? ” 

“ I cannot ask you to come in,” she answered hurriedly. 
“ I told you — I thought you would have understood ” 

“ Oh, I understood,” answered Archdale ; “ but 1 did 
not acquiesce — how could I ? I have been loitering up 
and down here for the best part of two hours upon the 
chance of seeing you,” he added, “ and I don’t think you 
can be so cruel as to refuse me five minutes of your time. 
It isn’t a great deal to ask.’^ 

The hall-door had been opened, and the light streamed 
out upon the pavement and upon Marcia’s irresolute face. 
She made a quick movement up the steps, spoke a few 
words to the butler, who closed the door, and then returned 
to Archdale’s side. 

“ I don’t think this is very kind or very considerate of 
you,” she said. “ The servants are in a great state of 
excitement and curiosity, and they will draw their own 
conclusions from what they have seen. Servants’ gossip 
is of no consequence to you ; but it may be of great con- 
sequence to me.” 

“ I can’t help it,” Archdale answered. “ You wouldn’t 
tell me of any place where I might meet you without exciting 
observation, and I don’t see how you can have imagined 
that I should quietly consent to lose sight of you for ever.” 

Marcia remained silent. She could not help being glad 
that he had disobeyed her j yet she had nothing to say to 
him. What was there to be said, except good-bye ? But 
he had a great deal more than that to say to her ; and as 
they crossed the road and walked slowly along the footpath 
outside the railings of Regent’s Park, he said it with an 
earnestness and impetuosity which she had never known 
him display before. He could not, he declared, afford to 
make use of equivocal phrases ; it was better to confess in 
plain words what he was sure she must already know. He 
loved her, and he would love her as long as his life lasted. 
Of course this was an insult, if she chose to regard it as 


MAkCtA. 


f4t 

such. On the other hand, it was true, and it was also 
true that his love for her would never lead him into any 
act which could properly be called insulting. He fully 
recognized the delicacy of her present situation, and she 
might rest assured that he loved her too much to increase 
its embarrassments voluntarily in any way ; but the self- 
abnegation which she demanded of him was more than 
flesh and blood could bear. Moreover, it was needless. 
The only boon that he craved was that of being permitted 
to meet her from time to time upon a footing of ordinary 
friendship. What harm could possibly come to her from 
that small concession ? 

“ You yourself have answered the question,” returned 
Marcia. “ You say you do not wish to embarrass me, but 
your presence cannot be anything else than an embarrass- 
ment to me now ; and of course what you have just said 
makes things ten times worse.” 

‘‘ I don’t see why. What I have just said was for your 
private hearing, and will go no further. As for the gossips, 
wouldn’t they think that your suddenly dropping me was 
a more suspicious circumstance than the continuance of a 
friendly intimacy which they have all noticed ? ” He 
went on, with greater animation, “ For God’s sake, don’t 
drive me to despair ! I have little enough to live for ; but 
something I must have ! And that little you can so easily 
give me ! It is only to speak a few kind words to me when 
we meet — which I suppose will not be often. I was obliged, 
just for this once, to tell you that I love you ; but I will 
not offend in that way again. If I ever do, you can turn 
your back upon me, and you will be right, and I shall have 
nothing to complain of ; but I don’t think you need grudge 
me what you would grant without a second thought to the 
first stranger who might happen to be introduced to you.” 

Marcia considered for awhile. “ It all comes to much 
the same thing,” she observed at length. “ I did not mean 
you to understand that I should cut you dead if we met ; 
only I think our meetings should be very few and far be- 
tween. They are tolerably sure to be that, because, as I 
told you, I am going to Italy at once, and, as far as I can 
see I am more likely to live abroad than in England for 
some time to come.” 

“ Well,” said Archdale, who had sense enough to per- 
ceive that, having now inserted the thin end of the wedge, 


142 


MARCIA, 


he had gained all that could as yet be hoped for, I must 
accept the crumb of comfort which you are willing to give 
me and be thankful for it. Only I wish I had some idea 
of when and where our next meeting will take place ! 
Have you decided upon any particular town in Italy as a 
residence ? ” 

“ No ; I thought of Florence, but not as a residence. 
Everything is uncertain, and I could not tell you what my 
movements will be even if I wished you to know them. 
But I don’t Wish you to know them. What I wish — and I 
dare say it will not be very long before I get my wish — is 
that you should put me out of your mind and meet some- 
body else whom you can care for and — and marry.” 

“Ah!” exclaimed Archdale, “ I don’t think you are 
quite sincere when you say that.” 

She was conscious of some insincerity ; but she felt his 
lack of generosity in charging her with it. “ I mean what 
I say,” she declared, “ and I should be very much ashamed 
of myself if I meant anything else. I must go now. Good- 
bye, Mr. Archdale.” 

He took her hand and seemed disposed to retain it ; 
but, withdrawing it hastily from his grasp, she almost ran 
across the road to her own door. Presently this was 
opened and she disappeared, without so much as throwing 
one backward glance at the man whom she loved. She 
had behaved, perhaps, as well as it was possible for her to 
behave ; but she certainly had not contrived to keep her 
secret. To an experienced man like Archdale she might 
almost as well have said in so many words, “ I dare not 
be your friend any more, because I love you.” 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

A SWISS HOLIDAY. 

An argument whhich has always been held to be a strong 
one in favor of some future state of existence is the diffi- 
culty of believing that the experience which we all buy 
upon such hard terms in this world can be destined to lead 
to nothing ; yet sceptics might urge that our experience, 
even as regards the affairs of this present life, is but an 


Ma^C/A. 


evanescent thing, that we very seldom utilize it for the 
benefit of others, and that nine-tenths of us, by the time that 
we have reached middle age, have clean forgotten what we 
were as children. But the few whose memory of childhood 
has remained really distinct ought to be aware that the 
senses of the young are far keener than those of their 
elders, and that among the daily absurdities which we com- 
mit none is greater than that of imagining that children 
neither see nor hear things of which it might be desirable 
that they should be kept in ignorance. Willie Brett’s 
intelligence was in some respects above the average ; but 
a duller boy than he would have guessed the meaning of 
his mother’s abrupt departure, and when he reached home 
at Easter he was fully prepared for a communication which 
Mr. Brett had been at some pains to think out and put 
into unexceptionable language. 

In justice to poor Mr. Brett it must be admitted that if 
he did not acquit himself of his painful duty with marked 
felicity, he did so in a thoroughly magnanimous and con- 
scientious spirit. He said : 

“ When you are older, Willie, you will be able to form 
your own opinion as to the causes which have led to this 
unhappy separation between your mother and myself. 
That opinion I shall not, either now or at any future time, 
endeavor to influence ; but it is necessary that I should 
inform you of the facts, and point out to you a few of the 
more immediate consequences as regards yourself. To 
begin with, I must tell you that I have decided to leave 
this house, which is too large and expensive a one for my 
present requirements, and that I have already found a 
tenant for the remainder of my lease. As I must at once 
begin moving my furniture to our new home in Keppel 
Street, Russell Square, I think that you would enjoy your 
holidays more if you were to spend them at Blaydon with 
your Uncle George, who has kindly sent me an invitation 
for you ; but should you prefer to remain with me while 
the process of removal is going on, you will be at liberty 
to do so.” 

The rest of the harangue, which bore reference to the 
future disposition of Willie’s spare time and to other mat- 
ters of detail, was couched in terms of similar formality ; 
and it is scarcely necessary to add that long before the 
speaker arrived at his peroration he had been judged and 


144 


MARCIA, 


condemned. The boy did not say much ; but he showed 
on which side his sympathies had been enlisted by declar- 
ing without any hesitation that he would like to spend his 
holidays with his uncle and aunt. Sharp though he was, 
he was not sharp enough to discover that this choice 
inflicted a keen pang of disappointment upon his father, 
who replied coldly : 

“ I had no doubt that that would be your wish. I will 
send a telegram to your uncle immediately, and you can 
leave after breakfast to morrow morning.” 

Now, if there were two people in the world whom Willie 
disliked — but perhaps he did not really dislike them, for 
his heart was full of kindness and leniency towards human- 
ity at large, as the hearts of some boys and even of a 
few men are — those exceptional persons were Sir George 
and Lady Brett. He had before this visited Blaydon Hall, 
their country place near Tunbridge Wells, and he Knew 
what amount of enjoyment he might expect in that gloomy, 
imposing residence. It was a house in which punctuality 
was enforced to the point of a moral torture, a house where 
everything was always in its proper place, where the ser- 
vants habitually walked on tiptoe, where there were no 
children and no dogs, and where anybody who stepped 
hastily into the hall without wiping his boots was pretty 
sure to be told of the injury that he had done to the car- 
pets. As for its master and mistress, one of them was a 
bully and the other was a hypocrite. If Willie did not 
mentally describe them in such uncompromising terms, 
that was not because he had failed to take their measure ; 
so that by preferring their society to that of his father, he 
signified with no slight emphasis what his view of his 
father’s conduct was. 

However, the conduct of Sir George and Lady Brett was 
not much, iHt was at all, better; and although they scru- 
pulously refrained from saying a word to the boy against 
his erring mother, they refrained in so pointed a manner that 
they might quite as well have given utterance to their 
thoughts. For the rest they endeavored to be kind, and 
were in truth as kind as their respective natures would 
allow them to be. Willie’s pony was accommodated in the 
stables ; he was allowed to ride at such hours as the coach- 
man could find time to escort him ; he was not much 
scolded, though he was a good deal lectured, and when his 


MARCIA. 


*4S 

visit came to an end, he received a sovereign from his 
uncle, and a volume of sermons, specially designed for the 
use of the young, from his aunt. Nevertheless, he carried 
away the perfectly correct impression that these people 
were his father’s friends and his mother’s enemies, and he 
was glad enough to turn his back upon them. “ I don’t 
want to go to Blaydon again,” he wrote to Marcia, who 
had now temporarily established herself at an hotel in Flo- 
rence ; “ it is awfully slow there, and every day feels like 
Sunday. I didn’t get on much with any of them except 
Benson, the butler. He told me to send you his duty.” 

With the intuitive delicacy of his years, Willie abstained 
from alluding in his weekly letters to the revelation which 
had been made to him by his father. He wished to know 
no more than his mother might see fit to tell him ; and she 
did not see fit — possibly she was a little ashamed — to write 
upon a topic which afforded scope for many awkward 
questions. There were plenty of other subjects to write 
about — her life at Florence, her plans for the summer, 
Willie’s increasing proficiency at cricket, the excellent 
reports from the head-master which were periodically for- 
warded to her husband, and transmitted to her by him, 
without any accompanying comments. Gradually there had 
grown up in her mind a detestation of her husband so 
intense that she hated even to mention his name — a de- 
testation which may have been in some part due to con- 
sciousness that if he had been unfair to her, she had also 
been unfair to him. So weeks and months passed away ; 
and Willie, who had his own affairs to attend to (and 
how much more engrossing the affairs of boyhood are than 
those of mature age ! ) was satisfied with the knowledge 
that his mother was well and was enjoying herself, and was 
looking forward to the happy day when they should once 
more be together. 

The day, when it came, was certainly happy enough to 
fulfil all the expectations of both mother and son. It was 
at Geneva that Marcia, after dawdling through some weary 
weeks among the Italian lakes, had the joy of once more 
holding her boy in her arms, and scrutinizing with pride 
the development which had taken place in his person dur- 
ing the period of their severance. He was not going to 
be strikingly handsome ; but he was going to be tall and 
strong, and although the childish outline of his face had 


146 


MAkCTA. 


not altered, there was a certain undefinable air of manliness 
about him which was new. His clear eyes met hers with 
a look which is only to be seen in the eyes of those who 
have nothing to conceal. Perhaps that is why she low- 
ered her own after the first embraces were over, and the 
first questions and answers exchanged. Not even to Wil- 
lie could she tell quite everything. 

However, she told him a good deal, as they sat together 
in the Jar din Anglais after dinner, on that still, hot even- 
ing, and listened to the distant, continuous roar of the 
rushing Rhone. A tacit understanding had at once sprung 
up between them that accomplished facts must be accepted 
and had better not be discussed ; what she had to say to 
him referred to the acquaintances that she had made at 
Florence, to her recently formed project of acquiring a 
permanent home in that southern city, and to her hope 
that at some future time her home would also be his. 
“ Because of course, when you are of age, you will be able 
to do as you please,” she said. 

Willie laughed and shook his nead. “ Well, I don’t 
know so much about that,” he answered. “ But I sup- 
pose, whatever becomes of me, I shall sometimes have 
holidays, and I shall always spend them with you.” 

“ We are going to have some holidays together now, 
at all events,” observed Marcia, turning an anxious sigh 
into one of contentment. “ What place shall we make for 
first? ril give you the map and the guide-book, and you 
shall choose. All places are the same to me, so long as I 
have you with me.” 

All places in Switzerland had, at any rate, the advan- 
tage of novelty for those unsophisticated tourists ; so that 
the grandeur of Chamouni and Zermatt was not marred in 
their eyes by melancholy but inevitable comparisons be- 
tween the past and the present. Switzerland, doubtless, 
is not what it once was ; but in these days of cheap circu- 
lar tickets, no corner of the earth where decent sleeping 
accommodation is to be found has escaped the inroads of 
the all-pervading bourgeoisie^ and perhaps, after all, the 
benefits of the change outweigh its drawbacks. However 
that may be, happy people are seldom disposed to be cri- 
tical, and neither Marcia nor Willie objected to dining at 
the table dlhote with the butcher, the baker, and the .can- 
dlestick-maker. The quaint remarks and sentiments which 


MARC/A. 


147 


they were thus privileged to overhear, and which they 
never could have had a chance of hearing under any other 
conditions, were part and parcel of the enjoyment of this 
leisurely and delightful journey. A dozen men will give a 
dozen different definitions of happiness, and the happiness 
of most of us consists, of course, either in retrospect or in 
anticipation ; but Marcia had now the rare satisfaction of 
knowing and declaring that she was happy in the present. 
Willie also was happy, although his request that he 
might be allowed to attempt the ascent of the Matterhorn 
(a request which sounds oddly enough to the ears of the 
middle-aged, yet is no longer to be called preposterous) 
was not granted. Feats of a less ambitious kind he was 
permitted to undertake, and his mother, who was not very 
fond of walking uphill, was content to while away the hot, 
cloudless days with a novel in the garden (5f the hotel while 
he scaled the neighboring heights under the efficient pro- 
tection of two guides and a porter. 

But one evening, when he returned, tired out and 
triumphant and brimming over with the record of his 
adventures, it chilled him a little to discover that she was 
not, as usual, alone. By her side, sitting astride upon a 
chair, over the back of which he had folded his arms, was 
the artist whom Willie well remembered, and of whom he 
had not formed a favorable opinion. And his prejudice 
was not removed by the manner in which this gentleman 
was pleased to greet him. 

“ Hullo ! how are you ? ” Mr. Archdale said, holding 
out his left hand. “You’ve been up some spitz or horn 
or other, I hear. Well, different people have different 
ideas of pleasure. Personally, I prefer to remain at a lower 
elevation and talk to Mrs. Brett : so we shall not interfere 
with one another, I trust.” 

Willie extended his little brown hand and smiled, and 
moving away at once, without replying, seated himself 
upon the ground beside his mother, who had a hundred 
questions to put to him. The stranger, finding that he 
was thus ignored, rose deliberately, yawned, and said : 
“ I suppose we shall meet at the table d'hote, shall we not, 
Mrs. Brett ? ” He then sauntered towards the hotel, while 
Ma;;jpia, with some symptoms of embarrassment, which 
werOi^iot lost upon her son, explained : 

Mr. Archdale arrived this afternoon with a friend of 
his. I was very much surprised to see him, because of 


148 


MARCIA. 


course he did not know that we were at Zermatt, and our 
meeting was purely accidental.” 

“ I don’t like that fellow,” said Willie, with a boy’s un- 
compromising candor. “ Was he at Florence last 
winter? ” 

Marcia raised her eyebrows in astonishment ; for the 
query struck her as being a strange one, and she doubted 
its having been prompted by mere curiosity. “ Yes,” she 
replied ; “ he was there in February and March, and I 
used to see him sometimes. Why don’t you like him, 
Willie ? ' Did your Aunt Caroline say anything to you 
about him ? If she did, I am sure it was no good, because 
he has snubbed her, and she hates him for it.” 

Willie shook his head. He had not heard Mr. Arch- 
dale’s name mentioned by his aunt, nor could he give any 
abstract reasoi? why Mr. Archdale should be disliked. 
Nevertheless, he did dislike the man and wished that he 
would go away. 

“ Oh, well,” said Marcia, laughing, “ I daresay he will 
go away to-morrow or next day, and if he doesn’t, we can. 
I wish you liked him, because he is one of the few friends 
whom I have in the world ; but he isn’t indispensable. 
We can get on very well without him — you and I — can’t 
we?”* / 

Willie thought so and said so ; but neither on the mor- 
row nor on the day following did Mr. Archdale leave 
Zermatt, while Marcia seemed quite contented to remain 
where she was. What had happened was, in fact, what 
had been certain to happen. Archdale had appeared at 
Florence in pursuance of a plan which he had announced 
long before Mrs. Brett had decided to leave her husband j 
he had called upon Marcia ; he had been repulsed, at first 
somewhat vehemently, afterwards with more gentleness ; 
eventually she had found herself unable to forego the 
pleasure of occasional meetings with him ; and so by 
degrees their intimacy, which was an innocent one enough 
so far as words went, had been completely re-established. 
She had told him that she proposed to spend the summer 
in Switzerland, but she had not told him that she would be 
in any given part of Switzerland at any given time, nor had 
he mentioned his intention to visit that country all. 
Consequently her conscience was as clear as the noAday, 
and when he and his friend Mr. Drake suddenly turSd up 


MARCIA. 


149 

at Zermatt she was a great deal more astonished to see 
them than they were to see her. 

“ Thank heaven,” Mr. Drake observed to his traveling 
companion, “ we have run the woman to earth at last ! 
Now, I trust, one will be allowed to rest for a day or two 
and get one’s things washed. As you are paying all 
expenses, I suppose I have no right to complain ; but 1 
will go so far as to say that this desperate rushing about 
from pillar to post was rather more than I bargained for. 
Even as it is, my prospects don’t look altogether rosy. 
Of course I shall have to entertain the small boy, and the 
worst of it is that I ain’t much of a hand at entertaining 
.small boys. I never know what the deuce to say to ’em ! ” 

In that respect Mr. Drake was scarcely peculiar ; but if 
he did not know what to say to Willie, Willie knew very 
well what to say to him ; for in truth he was a good- 
humored, unprincipled, amiable sort of creature, with whom 
most people could manage to get on. And the boy was quite 
clever enough to elicit some significant information from 
him. It appeared that Archdale had tried Bale, Lucerne, 
Berne and Lausanne before hitting off Mrs. Brett’s track 
at Geneva ; it further transpired that he had pursued her 
to Chamouni, and from thence to Zermatt, at a rate of 
speed which had been found very trying by a middle- 
aged man. “ So I really do hope,” Mr. Drake observed in 
conclusion, “ that your mother likes this place. I can’t 
say that I particularly fancy it myself ; still I would a little 
rather stay where I am and rest for a bit than scramble 
over interminable passes under a blazing sun upon the back 
of an ungroomed mule.” 

“ You might walk,” suggested Willie. 

“ Oh, yes, I might walk ; and I might drop down dead 
of an apoplectic stroke. Why on earth can’t people agree 
to meet in some decent level country like Holland ? It 
isn’t as if they wanted to admire the scenery.” 

These and other observations of a similar kind made 
Willie pensive. From Zermatt his mother, escorted by 
her two friends, proceeded over the Monte Moro to Macug- 
naga, whither he was permitted to make his way by the 
more adventurous passage of the Weiss Thor; then the 
whqle party moved down to Baveno on the Lago Maggiore, 
whi^ was a relief to Mr. Drake, who remarked that 
b^jpng was at least some improvement U'"on mountaineer- 


MARCIA, 


ISO 

ing. But what was noticeable and disquieting was that 
not a word was said about the possible departure of these 
gentlemen. It seemed to be taken for granted that Mrs. 
Brett’s route was their route, and that if they had left 
England with any fixed intentions, these had been carried 
out when they encountered her. 

It was seldom that Willie could now contrive to secure 
five minutes of uninterrupted conversation with his 
mother ; but one evening after dinner he proposed to take 
her out upon the lake. “ Just our two selves,” he pleaded. 

“ I’ve found a jolly little boat that won’t hold more than a 
couple comfortably, and we can slip away while those 
fellows are smoking their cigars.” 

Marcia laughed and consented. A few minutes later she 
was seated in the stern of a somewhat dangerously light 
craft, and Willie, with vigorous strokes, was pulling away"^ 
from the shore, upon which the gesticulating forms of 
Archdale and Drake could be descried. 

“They may wave their arms till they’re black in the 
face,” said the boy gleefully. “ We aren’t going to turn 
back for them now. I wish we could go straight on to 
some other place and telegraph for our luggage, without 
letting them know our address ! ” 

Marcia sighed. She was drawing her fingers through the 
water in accordance with what seems to be the instinctive 
habit of her sex — and a very disagreeable and unsafe habit 
it is. I’m afraid there is no use in trying to make you 
like Mr. Archdale,” she said. “ He has been very kind to 
me, though, and I should be sorry to be rude to him. Most 
likely he will leave us of his own accord in a few days.” 

Willie made a sceptical grimace. However, he sus- 
pected that his mother’s sentiments with regard to Mr. 
Archdale were as unalterable as his own, and he did not 
care to waste time in discussing that gentleman’s good or 
bad qualities. There was not, in truth, much time to be 
wasted. Of this he became aware somewhat sooner than 
his mother, whose back was turned towards the quarter 
whence black thunderclouds were rolling up, and this, per- 
haps, had been the meaning of the excited beckonings of 
Archdale and Drake. Marcia, unconscious of approaching 
peril, was saying : “ How well you row, Willie ! You will 
have to be a wet-bob at Eton,” when a sudden gust of 
wind swept past her, ruffling the calm surface of the f^ke, 


MARCIA. 


* 5 * 


and immediately the sky became darkened. She started 
and glanced over her shoulder. “ Good gracious ! ” she 
exclaimed ; “ there is a frightful storm coming. Let us 
get back at once.” 

“ We should be caught before we had done half the dis- 
tance,” answered Willie ; “ but it’s all right. We’ll shelter 
under the lee of one of these islands until it’s over.” 

They were close to the Isola Madre, for the further 
shore of which he now made. Marcia and he were upon 
dry land and had hauled their boat up the beach and en- 
sconced themselves beneath the thick shade of an orange- 
grove before the first drops of the impending downpour 
fell. Then for about a quarter of an hour they were privi- 
leged to behold a scene which they rather enjoyed. The 
thunder was almost continuous ; the lake was lashed into 
an expanse of seething foam by the wind and the rain ; 
the trees above them swayed and groaned ; the jagged 
edges of the distant mountains were lit up by flashes of 
brilliant lightning, which made the succeeding darkness 
more intense ; and they congratulated themselves, as 
people who have narrowly escaped death often do, with a 
certain sense of having performed -a decidedly clever feat. 
Of course they got a ducking, but they did not much mind 
that ; it would be a simple enough matter to change their 
clothes as soon as they returned to the hotel. 

But when the storm had whirled away to the southwards, 
and the stars were shining in a clear sky, and these rash 
voyagers had safely traversed the space of still-heaving 
water which separated them from the mainland, they met 
with a reception which, to one of them at all events, was 
eminently offensive. 

‘‘ You have given us a fine fright ! ’’ exclaimed Archdale, 
as he helped Marcia to get out of the boat. “ I suppose 
you landed on one of the islands, didn’t you ? These 
ruffians here swore that that was what you had done ; but 
neither they nor we could see what had become of you, 
and nothing would induce them to let us have a boat. Of 
course, we knew that that wretched little cockleshell of 
yours couldn’t live for two minutes if the squall caught 
you.” 

His cheeks were pale, his hand trembled, and his voice 
vibrated with an emotion in which the element of anger 
waSyObviously present. Some people cannot be frightened 


152 


MARCIA. 


without getting angry about it, and that Archdale belonged 
to that species was shown by his next words, which were 
addressed to Willie. 

“ It’s no thanks to you that your mother wasn’t 
drowned,” he said sharply. “ Why didn’t you come back 
when I called you ? You must have heard me plainly 
enough.” 

“ Willie and I seem destined to get into a row when we 
go out boating together,” struck in Marcia, before the boy 
could make any reply. Do you remember our sailing 
expedition last year, Willie, and how cross your father was 
because we kept him waiting for dinner ? ” 

Willie nodded. He remembered the incident, and it 
struck him that his father had had a right to be cross, 
whereas, Mr. Archdale had none whatsoever. But he held 
his peace, because he saw that his mother was afraid of his 
retorting upon her friend after some unpardonable fashion 
— which thing he was, in truth, sorely tempted to do. 
Only when she came into his bedroom an hour or so later 
to say good-night to him, he felt entitled to charge Mr. 
Archdale with “ beastly cheek,” and she did not dispute 
the justice of the charge. 

“ He had no business to scold us,” she admitted, “ but 
he had been very anxious, you see, and I suppose he didn’t 
quite know what he was saying.” 

“ Oh, bother his anxiety ! ” returned Willie, who was 
much incensed; “we can take care of ourselves without 
him, and we don’t want him to be anxious about us. I 
wish you would tell him so ! ” 

Marcia could not quite see her way to committing such 
a breach of good manners ; but there was something in the 
mutual dislike of the two persons whom she loved best in 
the world which was not displeasing to her, and her inclin- 
ation at the moment was to show favor to her son rather 
than to her admirer. “ I’ll tell you what we’ll do, Willie,” 
said she ; “ if you want to shake off Mr. Archdale, we’ll 
give him the slip. There will be a steamer for Locarno 
to-morrow morning at a quarter to six — long before he will 
be awake. I’ll pack up to-night, and we’ll get back into 
Switzerland by the St. Gothard Pass. Even if he finds 
out where we have gone, he won’t like to follow us after 
such a broad hint as that.” 

Willie was of opinion that it would be a simpler plan to 
infprrp Mr. Archdalp in so many words that his company 


MARCIA, 


153 


was no longer desired ; but, as his mother declared that 
she would never dare to be so uncivil as that, he assented 
to her less dignified project of evasion. 

Thus it came to pass that a very crestfallen Englishman 
sat down to breakfast at Baveno the next morning in com- 
pany with an unsympathizing friend, who could scarcely 
eat for laughing. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

MR. BRETT CONSULTS THE DOCTOR. 

During this sultry summer season, while thousands of hard- 
working professional men were seeking relaxation among 
the pleasant places of the earth, Eustace Brett continued 
to plod daily to his police-court, and from the police-court 
to his club, and so home in the evening to his gloomy 
house in Keppel Street, without any thought of giving 
himself a holiday. It was not that he felt no need of one, 
for he was ill and weary and in desperately low spirits ; 
but he did not see what difference a change of scene would 
make to hiitT- Wherever he might go, he must needs be 
alone, and if his present work was distasteful and some- 
times revolting to him, at least it kept him for a certain 
number of hours from brooding over his own miserable 
and hopeless affairs. 

His troubles had lately become complicated and greatly 
increased by pecuniary anxiety. His wife’s separation 
from him meant the loss of half the income which he had 
hitherto enjoyed, and although he had moved into a small 
house in an unfasliionable quarter and had reduced his 
style of living, he had fallen into a state of morbid alarm, 
for which there was no real cause, lest he should be un- 
able to make both ends meet. What would become of 
him if he should be compelled — as he might at any mo- 
ment be compelled — ^to resign his appointment through ill- 
health ? What would become of Willie, who, in pursuance 
of arrangements which had been made long before, was 
soon to be sent to Eton ? The unfortunate man would lie 
awake at night, tormenting himself with such questions as 
these, until he reached a state of nervous distraction which 
was dangerously near lunacy. 


*54 


MARCIA, 


In speculating upon Willie’s future (because, after all, 
his own future was a very uninteresting subject to con- 
template), it was natural enough that his mental vision 
should be turned longingly upon his wealthy elder brother. 
If Sir George would only decide to make the boy his heir, 
a useless and worn-out man might sing Nunc Dimittis 
with resignation, if not with joy ; but Sir George was 
always chary of committing himself, and for some months 
past Eustace had seen very little of him. He had, it was 
true, received several invitations to spend a few days at 
Blaydon Hall ; but he had excused himself, pleading that 
he really was not fit for anybody’s company save his own. 
Towards the end of August, however, he suddenly resolved 
to yield to an urgent entreaty which reached him from 
Caroline ; and deeply shocked Caroline was at her guest’s 
aspect when he arrived. 

What is the matter with you, Eustace ? ” she exclaimed. 
“ You look at least twenty years older than you have any 
business to look, and you are the color of — of — well, I 
never saw anybody such a color. Have you consulted a 
doctor ? ” 

“ I doubt whether any doctor could prescribe for me,” 
Mr. Brett answered gravely. “ I am not well ; but I am 
not aware that I have any definite complaint. That is to 
say that I have the complaint of worry, which I suppose 
kills a good many people every year. Unluckily, there is 
no cure for it.” 

“ I had hoped that you would be free from worry 
now,” Lady Brett said sympathetically, yet a trifle re- 
proachfully, as though she thought it rather unreasonable 
of him to be worried after having been delivered from 
his wife. “ Is there anything in particular that distresses 
you ? ” 

“ There are many things that distress me,” Mr. Brett 
replied in his cold, dry way. “ My conscience for one ; 
my health for another ; the obscurity of the future for a 
third. I am not able to flatter myself that I have done 
my duty to my wife ; I hardly know how to do my duty to 
my son, and when I die I shall leave him almost unpro- 
vided for. I have reasons, as you see, for being worried 
and distressed.” 

Lady Brett did her best to reassure him. His con- 
science, she declared, ought to be perfectly clear, and from 


MARCIA. 


*SS 

the well-stocked storehouse of her memory she produced 
sundry Biblical quotations in support of that view — wh’ch 
was really ingenious of her. As to his health, he must 
and should see Sir William Puffin. “ That I insist upon, 
and you shall go to his house if I have to drag you there 
with my own hands.” But with regard to the obscurity of 
the future she did not say much, because, as a. matter of 
fact, she was ignorant of the provisions of her husband's 
will, and did not venture to make inquiries respecting 
them. Sir George, who, socially speaking, was easy to 
lead, never suffered a woman to interfere with him on 
matters of business. 

That evening, however, she said a few words to her 
husband, who, like herself, had been much struck by Eus- 
tace’s deplorable looks. “ Something must be done, 
George ; he is siipply dying. Of course he ought to have 
the best advice at once ; but it seems to me that he is 
suffering more in mind than in body. Naturally his chief 
anxiety is that, if anything should happen to him, his 
son should be left independent of that horrid woman ; and 
I suppose he has very little to leave.” 

“ I’m sure I don’t know,” answered Sir George. “ He 
was making a large income at one time ; but probably 
‘ that horrid woman,’ as you call her, has spent all his 
savings. Well, I’ll think it over and see whether I can be 
of some comfort to him; but, mind you, I won’t bind my- 
self down to any promises. If Eustace had chosen to enter 
the bank he would have been a rich man now : he didn’t 
choose to see on which side his bread was buttered, and 
the consequence is that he is a poor man. That’s no fault 
of mine.” 

When Sir George returned from the City on the follow- 
ing afternoon he did not fail to repeat these last observa- 
tions to his brother, whom he had requested to walk with 
him as far as the home farm. “ But,” he was good enough 
to add, “there’s no use in lamenting over the mistakes of 
past years : all we can do now is to make the best of 
things as they are. From what Caroline tells me, I gather 
that you are troubled about that lad of yours. Now, I 
know just what it is ; you have fretted until you are alto- 
gether below par, and you think you are going to die. 
That’s all stuff and nonsense ; you have as sound a con- 
stitution as I have ; and so Sir William Puffin will tell you 


MARCIA. 


*56 

when you consult him — which, by the way, you must do 
without delay. I know he is in town, because I met him 
the other day in the street. Still, I should be glad to 
relieve your mind with regard to the boy, if I could. Your 
wish, I assume, is that, in the event of your death, he 
should be placed under more desirable guardianship than 
that of his mother.” 

Mr. Brett stroked his chin, and replied, after a long 
pause, that that manner of describing his wishes was not 
entirely accurate. “ I should be sorry,” he said, “ to im- 
ply directly or indirectly that I considered my wife unfit 
to take charge of her own child. In fact, I have no right 
to do so. But I cannot shut my eyes to the possibility 
that after my death she will marry again.” 

Sir George was unable to suppress a sound which was 
half a snort, half a laugh. Of course the woman would 
marry again if she got the chance, and it was not very 
difficult to guess who her second husband would be. 

“ And should that come to pass,” the younger brother 
went on calmly, “ Willie’s prospects would necessarily be 
precarious and — and unsatisfactory. I am more ill than 
you suppose, George ; I have symptoms which I did not 
care to mention to Caroline, and which I dare say I should 
have mentioned to a doctor before now if I hadn’t been 
afraid of his verdict. I am convinced that, even though 
things may not be so bad as I suspect, I cannot look for- 
ward to many more years of life; and therefore, as you 
truly say, I am troubled about my poor boy. As far as 
his own conduct goes, he has never given me a moment of 
trouble,” added Mr. Brett, with a wistful look which some- 
how found its way to Sir George’s not over-sensitive heart. 

“ Well, well,” said the latter roughly, but not unkindly, 
“ the long and the short of it is that you want me to adopt 
him, I suppose. Now, I’ll tell you plainly what I’m pre- 
pared to do, Eustace : I’ll give him a home, and I’ll pro- 
vide him with a suitable allowance when the time comes, 
and I’ll leave him the half of my property, with the pros- 
pect of succeeding to the other half, in which Caroline 
will take a life interest. But all this must be subject to 
conditions. I must have authority ; I must be constituted 
his sole guardian — you’re a lawyer, and you know better 
than I do whether that can be legally done ; finally, it 
must be understood that I retain the power to disinherit 


MARCIA. 


*57 


him at will. I myself am lawyer enough to know that that 
is a power of which I cannot be deprived ; I merely wish 
to make it clear that, if 1 consent to stand in loco parentis 
to Willie, I must claim all a father’s rights and privileges 
— including that of cutting him off with a sixpence.” 

“ You relieve my mind of a great weight, George,” Mr. 
Brett answered, sighing. “ The conditions that you men- 
tion are quite reasonable, and such as any sensible man 
would exact. As regards the custody of children over 
seven years of age, a father has full power to appoint a 
guardian for them, and their mother cannot dispute the 
guardian’s authority, although she may, by application to 
the Court of Chancery, obtain access to them. That, 
however, I should not wish to refuse in my wife’s case.” 

“ H’m ! I’m not sure that I shouldn’t wish to refuse 
it,” said Sir George ; “ but I dare say it wouldn’t be very 
often claimed. Well, now, Eustace, you must try to give 
up moping and vexing yourself about calamities which are 
not in the least likely to occur. I won’t tie my own hands ; 
but there’s no harm in my saying to you, between ourselves, 
that my nephew will have to behave pretty badly before I 
shall disinherit him. You go and see Puffin as soon as you 
can. If he tells you to knock off work for a time, why, 
you’ll have to knock off work, that’s all. Her Majesty will 
allow you to take a furlough, I presume.” 

All this was very comforting to Mr. Brett, who made an 
appointment by post with Sir William Puffin the same 
evening and started on the following day to keep it. He 
had causes for unhappiness into which he knew that 
neither his brother nor his sister-in-law could enter, so he 
refrained from confiding these to them ; but he was grate- 
ful to them both for their substantial kindness. “ I can 
bear to hear the worst now,” iie thought to himself, as he 
journeyed back to London. “ After all, the prospect of 
death ought not to be particularly terrible to a man who 
has nothing left to live for.” 

But perhaps that prospect, by which we are all con- 
fronted, is inevitably terrible, and even if it be not, the 
prospect of a lingering and agonizing death must needs be 
so. It was in reality the latter prospect that Eustace 
Brett dreaded. He dreaded it so much that in all his 
mournful self-communings he had not dared to put his 
fears into language. 


MARCIA. 


158 

Yet when he found himself face to face with the cele- 
brated physician — a stiff, middle-aged man of few words, 
whose pale countenance betrayed no special interest in 
this patient — he could not avoid formulating the appre- 
hension from which he implored with tacit pathos to be 
delivered. He had to name the malady with which it 
seemed possible that he might be afflicted, and he did so 
reluctantly and shudderingly. 

Sir William, after making a thorough examination and 
writing down notes of the case, said : “ I think your best 
course will be to consult a surgeon, Mr. Brett. Of course 
there are many surgeons who are well qualified to advise 
you as to the next step to be taken ; but I may mention 
that Mr. Ward has a high reputation.” 

Mr. Brett started ; for he well knew the class of opera- 
tions by means of which the great surgeon in question had 
made, his name. ‘‘ But that is a death-warrant ! ” he ex- 
claimed. 

“ Oh no,” answered Sir William soothingly — “ oh, dear, 
no ! As to the existence of mischief, I can speak with 
some certainty ; but there is nothing whatsoever to show 
that it is of a malignant nature. Doubtless it might be- 
come so j and that is why I should recommend yon to lose 
no time in consulting Mr. Ward. I sincerely hope that he 
will be able to set your mind at rest, and to convince you 
that if you will submit to an operation, which is not at all 
dangerous to life, you will be as well as ever again in a 
short time. Anyhow, nothing can be worse for you in 
your present state than mental anxiety. Perhaps you 
would like me to write a few lines to him and prepare him 
for your visit? ” 

Mr. Brett signified assent, paid his fee, and went his 
way. He had not quite heard the worst ; but he was sure 
that he was going to hear it, and that certainty agitated 
him to a degree which filled him with self-contempt. 
“ Surely I am not a coward, in addition to all my other 
wretched failings,” he ejaculated inwardly. 

But who knows what constitutes cowardice ? — and who 
can tell whether he possesses the physical courage of 
which no human being can bear to acknowledge himself 
devoid until a convincing test has been applied to him ? 


MARCIA, 


>59 


CHAPTER XX. 

THE CUTTING OF THE KNOT. 

Mr. Ward had not yet returned from his annual holiday 
at the time of Eustace Brett’s interview with Sir William 
Puffin j so that the unfortunate patient had to live through 
ten days of sickening suspense as best he might. Yet, bad 
as uncertainty was, it was not so bad as the certainty which 
he acquired after undergoing an examination at the hands 
of the great surgeon and hearing the latter’s decisive 
opinion : “ The sooner the operation is performed the 
better, Mr. Brett.” 

“ Before I make up my mind to submit to an operation, 
I should like to know the precise nature of the disease,” 
Mr. Brett answered, in a voice which, notwithstanding all 
his efforts, trembled a little. 

The surgeon was a short, thick-set man, whose face 
was redeemed from insignificance by the brilliancy of his 
eyes. He had the mouth which is common amongst 
members of his profession and amongst schoolmasters — 
a large, thin-lipped mouth, slightly depressed at the 
corners, expressive of honesty and determination, but of 
very little tenderness. He said : “ I don’t think that there 
is any occasion for you to hesitate on that ground. The 
operation must be performed ; and it will be attended with 
no risk, apart from that which has to be incurred even in 
the most trivial operations.” 

“ But will the operation restore me to health ? ” Mr. 
Brett inquired. 

That I cannot venture to promise. It may do so. In 
any event, I believe that it will prolong your life.” 

A pause ensued which lasted nearly a minute. The 
condemned man looked round the four walls of the con- 
sulting-room as if he were seeking for some way of escape ; 
his restless eyes implored some word of hope and comfort, 
but obtained none. At length he said : 

‘‘ In plain words, 3^ou have made up your mind as to the 
nature of my case.” 


i6o 


MAJ^CIA. 


“Unhappily, there can be no doubt about it,” replied 
Mr. Ward at once. 

Then came another long pause, which Mr. Brett termin- 
ated by saying : “ I believe it is admitted that such cases 
are practically incurable.” 

“Well, that depends upon circumstances. In the 
majority of them, no doubt, the disease recurs ; but I 
have operated as long as ten years ago upon persons who 
are still living, and, so far as I am aware, are in good 
health. It is my duty to tell you that, judging by the 
doctrine of averages, the chances are against you ; but it 
is also my duty to add that an operation may be the means 
of securing you many more years of life, whereas, in the 
absence of an operation, you cannot, humanly speaking, 
expect to survive another six months.” 

“ Will this operation be a painful business ? ” 

, “ Of course it will be performed under chloroform. Its 
after effects will entail a certain amount of pain, but nothing 
unendurable.” 

“ And to let the disease take its course would, I suppose, 
involve unendurable pain ? ” 

Mr. Ward shrugged his shoulders. “ I ought not, perhaps, 
to have used the word ‘ unendurable,’ ” he answered. 
“ Scarcely a day passes on which I do not see people 
bearing intense suffering because they are obliged to bear 
it. I would not voluntarily submit to such suffering myself, 
nor, I imagine, would any man voluntarily submit to it.” 

He seemed to be unfeeling ; but in truth it was his 
experience of human cowardice that made him appear so. 
He could be gentle and sympathizing enough when he had 
persuaded a patient to acquiesce in his merciful cruelty ; 
only he knew that it was a very mistaken kindness to 
mince matters at the outset. 

“ Well,” said Mr. Brett, rising, “ I will think it over, 
and let you know my decision in a day or two. At my age 
it becomes a question whether life is worth preserving 
upon such conditions as you offer me.” 

The surgeon bowed gravely and held the door open for 
his departing visitor, who passed quickly through it and 
left the house. The fiat had gone forth, then; there was 
no appeal against it. On the one hand there was the 
certainty of a painful illness, culminating in a release which 
might be delayed through interminable months; on the 


MA^C/A. 


l6t 

other there was the remote possibility of a cure and the 
probability of a reprieve, neither of which, however, could 
be purchased save at the cost of an ordeal which flesh and 
blood shudder to contemplate. Eustace Brett, despite his 
outward coldness, had a highly-strung nervous organi- 
zation, and this had of late been subjected to a strain 
greater than it was fitted to bear. V/hen he regained the 
solitude of his study and sat down to think over the 
alternatives between which he had to choose, he felt con- 
vinced that it was out of his power to accept either of them. 
Death he could accept and even greet as a friend, but not 
suffering and all the horrors that in his case must accom- 
pany it. “ Good God ! haven’t I suffered enough already? ” 
he ejaculated aloud. 

The truth was that he had suffered a great deal and for 
a long time, and had borne his burden manfully enough. 
He had been ambitious, and had seen the hopeless wreck 
of all his aspirations ; he had loved his wife, as perhaps 
only men of his peculiar stamp can love, with unswerving 
fidelity, and had been forced to recognize the fact that she 
not only did not love him, but that he was positively 
hateful to her ; latterly he had had physical as well as 
mental miseries to contend against ; and now, as he sat 
in his arm-chair, recalling the past and trying to imagine 
the future, his feeling was that he was fairly beaten. When 
a man can fight no longer, when the limit of his endurance 
has been reached, he must give in. He is no more to be 
blamed for that than a horse who has tried his utmost is 
to be blamed for being beaten in a race by a better horse, 
or than a garrison is to be blamed for surrendering when 
the last crust has been eaten and the last cartridge fired. 

So Eustace Brett reasoned with himself ; but as he 
labored under the disadvantage of being strictly honest, he 
could not admi in this hour of his extremity what he had 
all his life denied, that suicide may sometimes be justifiable. 
All that he could urge in extenuation of a sin which he 
had resolved to commit, was that at least it would harm 
no one but himself. Many men put an end to themselves 
in order to shirk the troubles which their removal neces- 
sarily brings down upon others ; but such was not his case. 
To those whom he loved best his death would be a blessing 
rather than a misfortune ; he would pass out of the world 
without causing the heart of a single fellow-creature to 

U 


163 


MARCIA. 


ache ; Marcia would marry again, and Willie would find a 
home much happier than Keppel Street could ever have 
been made for him. 

Now, therefore, it only remained for him to set his affairs 
in order ; and this did not take very long. He had already 
made a will, in which he had bequeathed all that he pos- 
sessed to his son, to be held in trust until the latter should 
come of age ; to this he added a formal appointment of his 
brother as the boy’s sole guardian. Then he took a sheet 
of note-paper, and with much deliberation, studying each 
sentence carefully before he wrote it down, composed the 
following letter : 

“ My Dear Brother, , 

“ I have this day leamt that I am, in all human probability, within 
a stone’s-throw of death. My life, I am told, may possibly be pro- 
tracted by an operation to which I have not yet decided to submit, and 
from which, if I do submit to it, I may of course not recover. Should 
I prefer to let the disease take its course, there is the chance of my 
finding myself at any moment incapacitated. I think, therefore, that 
while I retain full possession of my faculties I should write a few words 
to you which I might have difficulty in saying if you were here, 

“ I want you to understand that, in my opinion, no blame attaches to 
my wife for the unhappy differences which have brought about our 
separation. The secret of it all is that she has never cared for me, 
while I have cared for her — I won’t say too much ; but so much that 
life without her is an infinitely greater misery to me than life with her 
used to be. And that means a great deal. The way in which I chose 
to deal with her was probably most injudicious. I thought I would not 
claim anything from her that she could not freely give, and I suppose 
the inference that she drew from my behavior — in fact, she has given 
me to understand that she drew that inference — was that I was cold and 
indifferent, whereas I was nothing of the sort. As I said before, I do 
not think that the repugnance which she certainly feels for me is blame- 
worthy, nor have I the right to bring any accusation against her. 
Nevertheless, I cannot wish that our son should be left under her care. 
IJiave many reasons for this, some of which you will guess, while others 
will most likely not occur to you. I merely desire to repeat that I 
gratefully accept your generous offer to take charge of the boy after my 
death, and that I do not doubt your willingness and Caroline’s to replace 
his parents, in so far as that can be done. He is, I know, deeply 
a tached to his mother, and I do not ask that they should be forbidden 
to meet from time to time ; but, looking forward into the future, as a 
moribund can, I think I can foresee that the affection which she now 
entertains for him will ere long be replaced by other and equally natural 
affections, and that he, being still a mere child, will be spared some 
subsequent pain by being at once and finally severed from the associa- 
tions of his early years. I will, however, leave the matter to your 
judgment, in which I have full confidence. I have nearly done with 


MARCIA. 


163 

this world, and perhaps it would scarcely become me to dictate with 
regard to affairs which nobody can be more painfully aware than I am 
that I have mismanaged while they were in my hands. 

“ I am, my dear George, 

“ Your grateful and affectionate Brother, 

“Eustace Brett.” 

It was growing dusk when Mr. Brett concluded this 
singularly ill-advised, yet thoroughly characteristic missive. 
He rose from his writing-table ani moving towards the 
window, gazed out into the dismal street. A long spell of 
sultry weather had been broken in the morning by a thun- 
der-storm : drizzling rain was now falling, and there was a 
chill in the air which made him shiver. “ By this time to- 
morrow,” he thought, “ I shall have ceased to be. I shall 
have unlocked the door which millions of human beings 
have tried in vain to force, I shall have solved the enigma 
which is as complete an enigma to pious men and philoso- 
phers as it is to the most ignorant of savages. What hap- 
pens after death ? Isn’t it an odd thing that nobody has 
the slightest idea. The Roman Church, perceiving that it 
was necessary to invent something, has invented purgatory ; 
our own Church speaks with a somewhat uncertain voice 
of paradise, but is silent upon the subject of suicides and 
other wicked persons, who can’t expect to be admitted into 
that place of rest. I have always been taught that a suicide 
is an especially wicked person, because his last act is a sin 
of which it is impossible that he should repent ; but I am 
not sure that I believe it. Suicide is a sin ; I don’t dispute 
that. Only it seems to me that if there is mercy for those 
who have sinned all their lives long and repent upon their 
death-beds, there should be mercy for an unhappy wretch 
who has tried to do his duty to the very last, and only 
breaks down because the burden laid upon him is greater 
than he can bear. 

He desisted from these reflections after a time, finding 
that they brought him neither conviction nor comfort. 
What it now behoved him to decide upon was the method 
in which his release was to be accomplished ; and this was 
a question which he spent a long time in debating. Every- 
body desires to die without pain, if that may be — indeed it 
was in order to escape pain that he had resolved to die — 
and of course an over-dose of chloral or some other anaes- 
thetic would supply him with what he wanted. But there 


164 


MARCIA. 


are Acts of Parliament which render the purchase of an over- 
dose of chloral a matter of some difficulty : added to which, 
he felt that it would be unpardonably selfish on his part to 
terminate his existence after a fashion which should pre- 
clude all doubt as to the deed having been intentional. For 
his wife’s sake, and especially for his son’s sake, he must con- 
trive by some means or other to make sure of a verdict of 
“ accidental death.” It is not a man’s fault that his father 
has hanged himself, or even that his father has been hanged ; 
but either event is like to prove prejudicial to him through 
life. The very least that I caii do,” thought Mr. Brett, 
is to abstain from inflicting an injury upon one whose 
natural protector I am, and whom I am about to abandon.” 

It is needless to follow the unhappy man through all the 
schemes and doubts and hesitations which kept him awake 
during three-fourths of what he had determined should be 
his last night on earth. When he rose the next morning, 
he had made up his mind as to the plan which he meant 
to adopt, and although his blood ran cold when he thought 
about it, he did not doubt but that he would have courage 
enough to carry it out. He was, indeed, somewhat sur- 
prised at his own coolness and composure, which exempted 
him from any painful efforts at self-control. All that had 
hitherto agitated and distressed him seemed suddenly to 
have lost the power to do so, and the only emotion of 
which he was conscious was impatience. A good many 
hours still remained to be lived through before the supreme 
moment could come. 

He employed them, as usual, at the police-court and at 
his club. The latter establishment was almost empty, as 
it had been for some months past j but he counted upon 
meeting one member of it, a barrister with a large family, 
who was spending the long vacation in London for econo- 
mical reasons, and his expectation was not disappointed. 
This burly, jovial Mr. Robertson strolled into the reading- 
room between five and six o’clock, and, finding that it con- 
tained but one occupant, violated the club rules by begin- 
ning to talk in a loud voice. 

'‘Well, Brett, how are you? Got the whole place to 
ourselves, eh? One of the many advantages of taking no 
holiday. I suppose you’ll compare me to the tailless fox ; 
but, upon my word. I’d much rather be in my own comfort- 
able house than in miserable seaside lodgings, and I sup- 
pose your being here is a proof that you think as I 4o,” 


MARCIA, 


165 

London suits me as well as any other place,” Mr. Brett 
replied. “ Perhaps I have to breathe a rather smokier 
atmosphere in Keppel Street than you do in West Kensing- 
ton. By the way, I have some business which will take 
me to your neighborhood presently ; we might go so far 
together if you are bound homewards. You generally 
make use of the underground railway, don’t you ? ” 

“ Either of that or of the omnibus ; but I suppose you 
wouldn’t like to be seen on a knifeboard ? Come along, 
then ; we’ll walk across to the St. James’ Park Station, and 
take the first train to Earl’s Court.’' 

Mr. Robertson, who was blessed with robust health, and 
was disposed to take it for granted that other people were 
in the same happy case until he received convincing proof 
to the contrary, did not notice his friend’s haggard appear- 
ance at first, but when they were out in the street he was 
struck by the feebleness and uncertainty of the latter’s 
gait. 

“ I’ll tell you what it is, Brett,” said he ; ‘‘I believe you 
do want a holiday after all. Why you’re walking like an 
old man of eighty.” 

“ I have been out of health for some time,” replied Mr. 
Brett, “ and latterly I have been troubled with sudden fits 
of giddiness. I suppose that is what makes me so shaky 
on my legs.” 

He changed the subject immediately, and introduced a 
professional one, which was perhaps more interesting to 
his companion. Whether the Lord Chief Justice had been 
technically right or wrong in a recent judgment was a 
matter of small consequence to Eustace Brett, but it was 
of considerable consequence to him that Mr. Robertson’s 
attention should be pleasantly engaged, so he argued in 
favor of the losing side with a good deal of ingenuity. 

A warm discussion followed, which was maintained the 
whole way to the station, and was still full of vitality on 
the platform, up and down which the disputants paced 
while waiting for their train. Mr. Brett, who had been 
glancing furtively over his shoulder while the other laid 
down the law, came to an abrupt standstill, and was ap- 
parently upon the point of making some telling rejoinder, 
when a warning voice shouted, “ Stand back there ! ” 

“ Take care, Brett ! ” exclaimed Mr. Robertson ; and 
for the rest of his life that innocent man accused himself of 
having brought about a sad disaster by his stupidity. 


i66 


MARCIA, 


“ One should never startle a man who is in a position of 
danger,” he said penitently to his wife afterwards ; “ one 
should pull him out of it. Why I didn’t catch hold of poor 
Brett I can’t tell you ; perhaps there wasn’t time. I may 
have bewildered him by calling out, or he may have been 
seized by one of the attacks of giddiness to which he had 
just told me that he was subject ; anyhow, he staggered 
back instead of taking a step forward, and in a moment it 
was all over. He fell across the line just in front of the 
engine, and was simply cut to pieces. The most awful 
sight I ever saw in my life ! One comfort is that death 
must have been instantaneous.” 

Death was unhesitatingly pronounced by the coroner’s 
jury to have been accidental; and indeed the evidence 
submitted to them was not such as to justify any other 
verdict. Sir William Puffin and Mr. Ward may have had 
their own opinion ; but, if so, they kept it to themselves, 
as sensible men should under such circumstances, and it 
was only Lady Brett who was indiscreet enough to say to 
her friends, “ That wretched woman was the real cause of 
the tragedy. I don’t condemn poor dear Eustace, because 
I am convinced that his mind was unhinged ; but I do, and 
I always shall, condemn her ! ” 


CHAPTER XXL 

WILLIE IS TOLD HOW HE STANDS. 

If there is one thing that women enjoy more than another 
it is making a man who loves them thoroughly angry and 
unhappy. Perhaps, therefore, th^ exhilaration which Mar- 
cia felt while she and her son were being drawn up the 
zizags of the St. Gothard Pass in a traveling carriage was 
not to be accounted for wholly and solely by the causes to 
which she was pleased to ascribe it, and it may be assumed 
that she was both sincere and mendacious when she ex- 
chimed, What a blessing it is to have shaken off those 
outsiders ! Now our holidays will begin again.” 

Willie concurred in the sentiment without being fully 
persuaded of its genuineness. For some time after he and 
his mother had once more established themselves at a high 


MARCIA. 


167 

level above the sea he scrutinized the daily arrivals with 
apprehension ; but his fears were not justified by events, 
and if Marcia entertained some unacknowledged hopes, 
these also remained unfulfilled. After all, she did not much 
care. Her friend was probably affronted, but he would 
recover himself in due season, and for the time being Wil- 
lie had certainly a prior claim upon her. Archdale was 
his own master, ^nd could see her whenever it might suit 
him to seek her out ; but her poor boy had, for the pre- 
sent, many masters, one of whom kept a school which 
reassembled early in September. So she placed herself 
unreservedly at Willie’s disposition, and visited all the 
places which he expressed a wish to visit, though some of 
these were not very comfortable, and they were quite happy 
together until the shadow of the inevitable parting began 
to fall upon them. Geneva, which had been the scene of 
their reunion, was also that of their severance. They kept 
up their spirits as well as they could until the last evening, 
when Marcia’s tears were no longer to be restrained. 

“ Oh, how dreadful it all is ! ” she exclaimed. “ If I 
were going to see you again at Christmas I shouldn’t mind 
half so much ; but my turn won’t come round until Easter, 
and the Easter holidays are so short ! ” 

The boy looked down, not trusting himself to speak. He 
was of an age at which the male creature of northern blood 
is supposed to have given up crying for ever ; yet he could 
not look forward into the future without sensations which 
brought him within perilous distance of disgracing his in- 
cipient manhood. At length, however, he regained self- 
command enough to ask ; “ Won’t you come home any 
more then, mother? ” 

“ Don’t call me ‘ mother * ! ” exclaimed Marcia. “ You 
have taken to it lately, and I don’t like it. Let me be 
* Mummy ’ still when we are alone, and when no one can 
hear us or laugh at us for being childish. No, dear ; 
England isn’t home to me now, and perhaps it never will 
be again. Florence is more my home than any other 
place ; but no place can be really home without you. It 
would break my heart if I thought you looked upon your 
father’s house as your home. 

As far as that danger went, her heart was likely to remain 
whole, and so Willie assured her. He had not yet seen 
his father’s house, nor had he the slightest wish to make 


i68 


MARCIA. 


acquaintance with it. He would prefer spending his holi- 
days at Blaydon, he said, unsatisfactory though Blaydon 
was as a holiday resort. It had, however, been arranged 
that he should pass a night in Keppel Street on his way 
back to school, and Marcia when she put him into the train 
could not refrain from giving him a word of caution, be- 
tween her sobs, which was perhaps superfluous. 

“ You need not say anything to your father about our 
having met Mr. Archdale and Mr. Drake,” she said. “ I 
don’t think he likes them very much.” 

Willie nodded. He thought it fair to add on his own 
score, ‘‘ Mr. Drake isn’t such a bad sort, you know.” 

Thus Marcia was moved to laughter as well as tears, and 
the last impression of her which her son carried away when 
the train moved out of the station was that of a lovely 
woman whose emotions were no more under her control 
than those of a child, and for whom his love was rapidly 
becoming akin to that which is the prerogative of childhood. 
Willie was a boy like other boys, and his master did not 
consider him at all precocious j yet he was able to take 
his mother’s measure with tolerable accuracy. She might 
do things which are not generally esteemed to be quite right 
he thought ; but she would never do wrong intentionally, 
and though the whole world should unite in condemning 
her, he at least would always be upon her side. And, 
indeed, he never swerved from that resolution, notwith- 
standing the trials to which it was subjected in after 
years. 

At intervals during the long journey he rehearsed the 
conversation which he might expect to have with his father, 
and made up his mind as to what he would say and what 
he would leave unsaid. Amongst other things, he intended 
to mention that, in his opinion, his mother required 
somebody to take care of her. Suppose she were to fall 
ill all alone there in Italy ? Or suppose some ruffianly 
foreigners should have the audacity to insult her ? Event- 
ually he himself would be in a position to afford her the 
protection of which she stood in need ; but for the present 
somebody surely ought to replace him. The poor little 
man really thought that these sage suggestions might pave 
the way for an impossible reconciliation. 

But when he reached Charing Cross his eyes searched 
the platform in vain for the tall, stooping figure which he 


MARCIA, 


169 


had expected to descry there. Instead of it, he pre- 
sently became aware of the ponderous form of Sir George 
Brett ; and Sir George, who was clad in black from hat to 
boots, looked strangely solemn. He said, in a subdued 
voice very unlike that in which he was wont to address the 
world at ferge : 

“ Come away with me, my boy ; the servants will see to 
your luggage. You are to sleep at my house to-night.” 

Willie was frightened, without quite knowing why. He 
glanced interrogatively at his uncle, who, however, avoided 
meeting his eyes, and vouchsafed no further explanation 
until they had seated themselves in the brougham which 
was waiting for them. Sir George did not half like the 
task which had been delegated to him by his wife ; but, to 
do him justice, he never shirked unpleasant duties, and he 
set to work upon this one with such delicacy as Heaven 
had granted him. After clearing his voice and blowing his 
nose noisily, he began : 

“ My boy, I have bad news for you. Your poor father 
has not been himself for some weeks past ; latterly your 
aunt and I have become uneasy about him, and now our 
worst fears have been — well, yes; I may say that they 
have been more than verified by events.” 

“ Is he dead? ” asked Willie in an awe-struck voice. 

“ Yes, my boy, he is dead,” answered Sir George, looking 
away and repressing a strong inclination to stop the car- 
riage and jump out. “ If the question is put to me 
point-blank, what other answer can I make ? I can’t tell 
a direct falsehood about it, you know.” 

This expostulation was perhaps addressed rather to the 
absent Caroline than to his interlocutor, who received the 
startling intelligence with a composure which Sir George 
was not quite sure whether to admire or to be shocked at. 
It was a comfort that the boy did not stuff his fists into his 
eyes and howl ; but at the same time some display of filial 
affection and sorrow would have been appropriate. As a 
matter of fact, Willie had never been able to feel much 
love for his stern, reticent father ; but in any case there 
would not have been room in his mind at that first moment 
for other emotions than amazement and incredulity. After 
be had been briefly informed of the accident which had 
occurred, and after he had confused his unde a little by 
inquiring what connection there was between that accident 


170 


MARCIA, 


and his father’s state of health, his thoughts naturally 
turned to his mother, and he asked whether she knew 
what had happened. 

She knows by this time,” Sir George replied. “ I tele- 
graphed to her as soon as I could get her address, which, 
however, I was not able to obtain immediately. I have 
as yet received no reply. Decency,” added Sir George, 
“ compelled me to telegraph ; but — er — I scarcely antici- 
pate that she will think it necessary to return to this coun- 
try.” 

Willie abstained from further questions. Had he shown 
more curiosity, he probably would not have heard that his 
uncle and aunt differed from the coroner’s jury, because 
Sir George was both a prudent man and in some respects 
a merciful one ; but certainly no effort would have been 
made to conceal from him the low esteem in which his 
mother was held by the relatives of her late husband. 
Perhaps he guessed as much, and for that reason kept 
silence. 

Sir George’s gloomy town-house looked gloomier than 
usual ; for the blinds were drawn down, and the furniture 
was swathed in brown holland, and the stair carpets had 
been taken up. 

“ We shall go down to Blaydon to-morrow afternoon,” 
Sir George said. “ Your aunt has not accompanied me to 
London ; she has of course been greatly upset by this ter- 
rible business, and it would not have been safe for her to 
incur the fatigue of the journey. But she begged me to 
give you her love, and to say that she hopes to keep you 
with her until — until a proper interval has elapsed and you 
can return to school. 

Dinner, for which Willie had very little appetite, was 
served with due solemnity in the vast, dimly lighted dining- 
room. In the course of the meal it transpired that Mr. 
Brett’s funeral was to take place on the morrow ; also that 
a telegram had arrived from Geneva. 

“ As I supposed,” observed Sir George, “ your mother 
does not intend coming to England. And I am bound to 
say that I do not see what good purpose could have been 
served by her doing so.” 

Of course she couldn’t have been here in time,” said 
Willie, feeling that he ought to stand up for his mother, 
who, it seemed was being accused of a callousness which 
was only to be expected of her. 


MARC/A. 


171 

“In time for the funeral, you mean? Well, no: nor 
perhaps, under the circumstances, would at have been 
desirable for her to attend, even if she had been able to do 
so. I am glad, however, that it is in your power to pay 
that last tribute of respect to your father’s memory.” 

The late police-magistrate had been a man to whom 
tributes of respect were doubtless due, and many people 
must have thought so, for his coffin was followed to the 
grave by a long string of legal celebrities. None of these 
gentlemen would have described themselves as his friends ; 
but they had been well acquainted with him, they had held 
a high opinion of his professional ability and personal integ- 
rity, and as most of them had outstripped him in the race 
for success, they had no reason to speak of him in other 
than flattering terms. Not even the presence of so large 
and honorable a concourse, however, could prevent the 
obsequies, which were solemnized in wind and driving rain, 
from being mournful and forlorn in the extreme. A solitary 
wreath, sent up from Blaydon by Lady Brett, reposed upon 
the coffin ; but nobody else had happened to remember a 
custom which has now become universal, nor did any tears 
fall into the dead man’s grave. Willie, who was made to 
walk alone as chief mourner, looked pale and a little scared, 
but did all that he was told to do, and was patted encour- 
agingly on the shoulder by sundry elderly gentlemen, who 
probably wished him to understand that they sympathized 
with him, although they had not any appropriate remarks 
at command. The boy’s mind was busy (as the minds of 
boys mostly are) with reflections and speculations which 
would have caused great astonishment to his unimaginative 
.uncle, had he given utterance to them ; but he held his 
peace, and when the melancholy ceremony was at an end. 
Sir George, with a sigh of relief, put him into the brougham 
which was in attendance, saying: 

“ Now we’ll drive straight to the station ; the express 
will get us home in plenty of time for dinner.” He added, 
in what he intended to be kindly accents, “ Blaydon will 
be your home now, you kno^, Willie.” 

That this was no mere figure of speech was explained to 
him later in the day by his aunt, who said, “ It was your 
poor dear father’s wish that we should treat you as our own 
child, and I hope you know that his wishes will always be 
sacred to us. You must try to be a good boy, and grow up 


MARCIA, 


172 

into a good man, as he was. Then you will understand, 
although you may not understand it yet, that Providence 
overrules all things for the best.” 

Willie quite intended to be as good as the frailty of 
human nature would permit him to be, and was not con- 
cerned to dispute the beneficent wisdom of Providence. 
At the same time he felt no great inclination to regard 
Blaydon as his home, or his uncle and aunt as his parents ; 
besides which, he remembered what others appeared to 
have forgotten, that one of his natural parents was still 
living. “ I shall sometimes go to mamma in the holidays, 
shan’t 1 ? ” he asked. 

Lady Brett sighed and made the sort of answer which 
Her Majesty’s Ministers usually make when inconvenient 
questions are put to them. 

“ Your uncle will do what is right and what is for your 
good,” she replied. “ It is time to dress for dinner now.” 

Now, was it right and was it for Willie’s good that he 
should be allowed to see anything at all of the wicked 
woman who, for his misfortune, was his mother? Lady 
Brett was decidedly of opinion that it was neither the one 
nor the other, and she expressed herself in unequivocal 
terms to that effect during a conjugal conference which 
was held the next morning after the post had come in. 
The post had brought Sir George a letter from Marcia to 
which exception could not very well be taken. Marcia, 
who evidently wrote under the influence of strong emotion, 
said she was quite aware that she had not been a good 
wife. She did not expect her husband’s relations to ab- 
solve her or think kindly of her ; she only begged them to 
believe that she had been grieved as well as shocked by 
the news of his tragic death, and that if it had been 
possible for her to foresee how near his end was, she would 
never have left him. 

“ In other words,” was Lady Brett’s comment upon this 
confession, “ she is sorry to have made an unnecessary 
scandal now that she has obtained her release. You need 
not trouble yourself to defend ter, George \ nobody denies 
that she is pretty, and nobody doubts that a pretty woman 
will be pardoned by any man, however advanced in years 
he may be.” 

“ My dear Caroline,” returned Sir George with some 
asperity, “ Marcia’s beauty has no more to do with the 


MARCTA, 


*73 


matter than my age. The question which I have to con- 
sider is whether her conduct, so far, has been such as to 
justify my forbidding all communication between her and 
her child.” 

“ Her conduct, so far, has been almost as bad as it could 
have been ; but I daresay it will be worse before long. I 
know for a fact that that man Archdale followed her to 
Italy, and I believe that they have since met in Switzerland. 
I suppose she will marry him now, if he will consent to 
marry her. I am not, I hope, uncharitable, but it is our 
duty as Christians to discharge the task which has been 
intrusted to us in a Christian manner, and how can we 
hope to do so if our efforts are to be perpetually under- 
mined by the influence of such a woman as that? I 
certainly understood from what you told me, George, that 
poor Eustace wished the boy to be removed from his 
mother’s reach, and that you yourself only consented to 
act as his guardian upon the condition that you were to 
have undisputed control over him.” 

Sir George scratched his ear and answered, “ Yes, yes ; 
but it isn’t such a simple affair as you think. You and I 
may have our own opinion of Marcia; you and I may be 
convinced that she is morally responsible for Eustace’s 
death ; but we can’t prove anything of the sort, and 
although perhaps I have a legal right to separate her from 
the boy against her will, the fact remains that I shall most 
likely get into a deuce of — that is, into a very disagreeable 
row by insisting upon my right. I should be more inclined 
to wait a bit and see how things go. It is not improbable 
that she may cut the knot of the difficulty of her own 
accord before long.” 

“ By marrying that artist, you mean ? ” 

“ Exactly so. The artist, we may assume, will not be 
anxious to be saddled with a stepson, and I should think 
that Marcia will not be such a fool as to ruin the lad’s 
prospects. She will have to choose between providing 
for him and letting me provide for him, you see.” 

“ In that case,” observed Lady Brett musingly, “ I have 
no doubt that she will be selfish enough to give him up,” 

People’s ideas of what constitutes selfishness and un- 
selfishness are apt to differ ; but it was, at all events, 
certain that no credit for virtue of any kind would be 
allowed by Caroline to her sister-in-law, and Sir George 


*74 


MARCIA, 


was glad to avoid further discussion. He wanted an heir, 
and had resolved that Willie should be his heir ; but he 
did not want to have more fuss about it than could be 
helped. He took an early opportunity of saying to Willie 
— not unkindly, yet with a certain dryness of manner 
which he always used instinctively in treating of business 
affairs : 

It is right and proper that you should know how you 
stand. Your father has nominated me as your sole 
guardian. That is to say that until you have reached the 
age of one-and-twenty I shall manage your small property 
for you, and you will be entirely subject to me. You will 
not, I think, find me tyrannical. I shall endeavor to do 
my duty, and I hope you will endeavor to do yours.” 

Willie did not reply ; but as his demeanor plainly showed 
that he had some observation to make, his uncle said, 
encouragingly : Well, speak out, my boy ; what is it? ” 

“ I would rather not be subject to anybody except my 
mother,” answered Willie, looking down. 

“Quite natural/’ returned Sir George with generous 
toleration ; “ but you must remember this : it was your 
father’s decision, not mine, that you should be taken away 
from your mother, and that your home should be with us. 
He had reasons for so deciding which you are not yet old 
enough to understand, but which will be explained to you 
later if you wish it. Personally, I may say that I think 
them sound reasons.” 

Willie was quite old enough to understand them. What 
he did not understand, and what he was chiefly anxious 
to find out, was the extent to which he was bound by his 
father’s decision. “ Shan’t I be allowed to go to my 
mother when she wants me ? ” he asked, a little tremulously. 

“ I am not prepared to say that,” answered Sir George ; 
‘‘ I must be guided by circumstances. Anything that I 
can conscientiously do to gratify you I will do ; but you 
now know what your position is, and your best plan, 
believe me, is to accept it without murmuring.” 

Willie abstained from murmurs ; but as for accepting 
his position, that he felt could only be done subject to 
certain mental reservations which it seemed inexpedient 
to state. “ He will give no trouble,” thought Sir George, 
with inward satisfaction. 


AURCIA. 


m 


CHAPTER XXIL 

MARCIA YIELDS. 

A WOMAN who has found it impossible to live with her 
husband may be shocked, but can hardly be grieved, by 
the intelligence that she has become a widow, and Marcia 
Brett, if she had been in any way logical or consistent, 
must have rejoiced in the recovery of her liberty, while 
deploring the melancholy event which had been the means 
of restoring it to her. Consistency, however, was not a 
salient feature in her character ; so that she shed a good 
many tears over the death of the man whose name she 
bore, and whom she accused herself of having treated 
somewhat harshly and ungratefully. Eustace had been 
exceptionally provoking, there was no denying that ; yet 
she supposed that, after his fashion and within the limits 
of his capabilities, he had been attached to her. Now 
that he was dead and gone, it was not very difficult to see 
his side of the case, or to admit that if he had been an 
unsatisfactory husband, he had also had an unsatisfactory 
wife. “ If I had only been patient enough to bear with 
him a little longer ! ’’ Marcia exclaimed again and again 
with genuine contrition. 

But it must be confessed that this penitent mood did not 
survive the blow inflicted upon it by a business-like letter 
from Sir George Brett in which the testamentary provisions 
of his late brother were distinctly set forth. That these 
included no provision for herself did not make Marcia 
angry ; she had her own fortune, and had not expected it 
to be increased. But she was very indignant, and perhaps 
very pardonably so, at the custody of her only child being 
denied to her, and it was in no measured terms that she 
wrote to protest against so monstrous an arrangement. 
Sir George, who was anxious to keep the peace, pointed 
out in a formal but not discourteous reply that he was 
bound to obey his brother’s instructions. Whether those 


176 


MA/^C/A. 


instructions were wise or the reverse it was not for him to 
say ; he would only mention that he was not prepared to 
set them aside. Perhaps he might take the liberty of 
adding that, in his opinion, Mrs. Brett would be ill-advised 
were she to provoke a conflict which could not but end in 
her discomfiture. 

Thus was initiated a correspondence which was briskly 
sustained during many weeks, although there was little 
save reiteration on both sides to keep it alive. Reiteration, 
however, often succeeds where argument would be of no 
avail, and by the time that Marcia had once more settled 
herself in Florence for the winter, she was beginning to 
admit what she had not been at all disposed to admit at 
the outset, that Sir George was a formidable antagonist. 
Apparently he had the law on his side. That, of course, 
only showed how brutal and unjust the law is apt to be ; 
still, its brutality and injustice cannot be amended in any 
given case without an Act of Parliament. Then again 
there was the prospect at which this wealthy banker had 
more than once hinted, that his ward would in all proba- 
bility be his heir. Personally, Marcia set little store by 
wealth ; but she had seen too much of the power of money 
to despise it, and she naturally hesitated to deprive Willie 
of the very best substitute for happiness that has ever been 
discovered. And after all, she reflected, a boy is not like 
a girl ; the fondest of parents cannot keep him always 
under their wing : perhaps it does not so very much signify 
whether this house or that is called their home, since in 
reality the greater part of their lives must be spent else- 
where. So at length she yielded a sort of dubious assent 
to the decree, which, as she was given to understand, was 
unalterable, merely stipulating that she should retain the 
right of seeing or sending for her son as often as he should 
be free to obey her summons. Sir George, perceiving that 
victory was now within his grasp, civilly declined to make 
any such concession. “ You must surely be aware,” he 
wrote, “ that I should fail in my duty were I to comply 
with your demand. I can say no more to you than I have 
already said to the boy himself ; namely, that I must be 
guided by circumstances. So far as it may be in my 
power to oblige you, I shall be glad to do so ; but I can 
make no bargain, nor can I relinquish in any degree the 
authority which has been conferred upon me.” 


MARCIA, 


177 


It was on a sultry autumn evening that Marcia wandered 
out to the Cascine with this discouraging missive in her 
pocket. So far as she was concerned, Florence was at this 
time a desert ; for she had made very few Italian acquaint- 
ances, and the English visitors, who to her represented the 
society of the place, had' not yet put in an appearance. She 
sat down on a bench beneath the trees and gazed at the 
yellow Arno, and felt utterly lonely and miserable. At no 
previous period of her life had she been deprived of the 
solace of symjDathy ; there had always been somebody to 
whom she had been able to confide at least a part of her 
troubles and grievances ; there had always been plenty of 
people willing and eager to console her when she had been 
out of spirits. But now, through no fault of her own, she 
seemed all of a sudden to have become an outcast. Willie 
was drifting away from her ; he would drift farther and 
farther away as the years went on — that was an inevitable 
process which she could not retard nor his uncle accele- 
rate ; the friends of bygone days had evidently forgotten 
her; even Laura Wetherby wrote in a stiff, formal fashion 
which indicated disapproval. “ Though what she can 
find to disapprove of in me now I’m sure I don’t know,'’ 
thought Marcia. And of course it was not strange that, 
at such a moment of dejection, her thoughts should revert 
to the man whom she loved, and whom it was no longer an 
offence against any law, human or divine, to love. The 
strange thing was that she had thought so little and so 
seldom of him since her husband’s death. Possibly she 
cared more for Willie than she did for him — the point was 
one to which she had never felt quite positive — but, at all 
events, her anxiety about Willie had hitherto driven him 
out of her mind, and only now, when she was gradually 
familiarizing herself with the idea that her life must hence- 
forth be divided from Willie’s, did she begin to wonder at 
Archdale’s prolonged silence. 

“ He might have written,” she mused. “ But perhaps 
he didn’t know where to write.” 

Then suddenly there flashed across her a suspicion 
which caused her heart-strings to contract painfully. Flirt- 
ing with a married woman is generally considered to be a 
dangerous sort of amusement ; but do not most men affirm 
that a flirtation with a widow is more dangerous still ? 
Archdale, it was true, had once told her that he loved her, 

12 


MARCIA. 


17^ 

and although he had never repeated the declaration with 
his tongue, he had repeated it many and many a time with 
his eyes. Nevertheless, she knew that no word in the 
English language is more frequently misused than “ love,” 
and a hot flush overspread her cheeks as she recalled the 
mixture of prudence and audacity which had always 
characterized Archdale’s relations with her. The most 
humiliating thought of all was that she had not contrived 
to keep her own secret. Evidently he had taken fright, 
and evidently she had only herself to blame for his alarm. 
“ Oh, if he would but come here ! ” she ejaculated in- 
wardly. “ If he would but give me the chance of convin- 
cing him that I am not quite so easily won as he imagined ! ” 

Her aspiration was gratified with dramatic promptitude ; 
for the very next instant somebody, who had approached 
noiselessly across the grass, placed his hands upon the 
back of the bench and exclaimed : “ At last I have found 
you, then ! I knew it must be you, though I never saw you 
wearing an ugly bonnet before.”' 

Marcia was too much taken by surprise to preserve her 
dignity, and before she could stop herself she had told Mr. 
Archdale how glad she was that her solitude had been 
broken in upon by the unexpected advent of a friend. “ I 
don’t know why you call my bonnet ugly, though,” she 
added : “ it is of the shape that everybody is wearing now.” 

“ It is ugly because it is black,” answered Archdale, seat- 
ing himself beside her. “ You are right, I suppose, to dis- 
play the conventional signs of mourning ; but I know they 
can’t imply any real grief, and I hope you will soon lay them 
aside.” 

Marcia was honestly shocked by the flagrant bad taste 
of this speech. “ I don’t think you quite understand,” she 
answered. “ Of course my husband and I were not upon 
good terms ; but it does not follow from that that I am 
quite such a wretch as to rejoice at his death.” 

“ Well,” said Archdale imperturbably, “ I daresay you 
are kind-hearted enough to be sorry. I admire you for it, 
though I really can’t pretend to share your sentiments. 
We have all got to die some time or other, and, for my 
part, I am sincerely glad that Mr. Brett’s time has come. 
You will admit that he treated you abominably.” 

Well, Marcia was certainly of that opinion ; but she 
abstained from expressing it. By way of changing the 


MARCIA, 


179 


subject, she inquired what had brought Mr. Archdale to 
Florence, and was gratified to learn that for some weeks 
past he had been seeking her high and low. 

“ I had no means of finding out where you were,” he 
said ; “ it was only as a sort of forlorn hope that I decided 
to push on here. You may imagine how delighted I was 
when I called at your old address and was told that you 
had returned. You haven’t been home since I saw you, 
I suppose ? ” 

“ I have no home,” answered Marcia sadly. One 
thinks of England as home ; but I don’t know whether it 
will ever be home to me again. Everything has been 
taken from me — even my own boy ” 

She was very nearly bursting into tears at this point ; 
but she controlled herself, and presently narrated the story 
of her wrongs, to which her companion listened patiently, 
though without much apparent sympathy. 

“ I am afraid you will call me hard-hearted,” he ob- 
served at length ; “ but I must confess that I see very 
little reason to regret an arrangement which will make your 
son a rich man some fine day. As for their forbidding 
you to see him, that’s all nonsense ; they will have to let 
you see him if you insist upon it. But, for the boy’s own 
sake, I shouldn’t advise you to insist too often, and I 
should try to keep upon good terms with the banker. I 
quite understand that this is rather a wrench for you ; 
only ” 

“ Oh, no, you don’t understand ! ” interrupted Marcia 
impatiently ; “ you can’t understand, and it was absurd of 
me to fancy that you could. I am sure you would be very 
sorry for me if I told you that I have been robbed of a few 
thousand pounds ; but when you hear that I have lost all 
I care for in this world you almost congratulate me ! ” 

Archdale looked hurt. Very likely he felt so : for in 
truth she had managed to wound his vanity, which was, 
perhaps, his most vulnerable point. “ Oh, if that brat — 
that boy, I mean — is all you care for in the world,” said 
he, “you are very much to be pitied, no doubt. But I 
didn’t know that he was ; I hoped you had some slight feel- 
ing of regard f )r your friends.” 

“ My friends,” answered Marcia, recovering her equani- 
mity when she perceived how greatly she had vexed one of 
them, “ haven’t gone out of their way to display any great 


i8o 


MARCIA, 


regard for me j my friends only remember my existence 
when it suits them to do so.” 

“ I assure you that Florence is very far out of my way. 
At this moment three influential patrons of mine are 
cursing me by their gods because I have failed to keep the 
engagements which I have entered into with them. I 
think you know that I can no more forget 3^our existence 
than I can forget my own ; so I need not reply to that 
charge.” 

Well, if you like, I will admit that you are the solitary 
exception which proves the rule. All my other friends have 
deserted me.” 

“ I don’t care a brass farthing about all the others,” Mr. 
Archdale declared. 

“ But perhaps I do,” observed Marcia, smiling. 

“ You said just now that you didn’t. Mrs. Brett, do you 
remember what I said to you that evening in the Regent’s 
Park ? ” 

Marcia rose hastily. “ Yes,” she answered, “ I remem- 
ber. One doesn’t forget such things ; but one doesn’t 
always wish to be reminded of them. I must say good- 
night now ; I didn’t know how late it was.” 

“ May I not see you home ? ” 

“ No, thank you ; I would rather drive. Perhaps if you 
would be so kind, you would walk on and find a carriage 
for me. I will follow you slowly.” 

He did as he was requested, and having obtained per- 
mission to call upon her, let her depart without finishing 
the speech which he had begun. He was in no great hurry ; 
he had made up his mind that he would ask her to marry 
him, and he did not think that he was in much danger of 
being rejected. As he sauntered back towards his hotel, 
he took credit to himself for having behaved in a thoroughly 
straightforward and honorable manner. To be sure, he 
was desperately in love with Marcia ; still one does not 
always go so far as to marry the people with whom one is 
desperately in love, nor, when one does so, can one always 
hope to escape the ridicule of one’s associates. However, 
in this instance there was, happily, nothing that could pro- 
voke a sneer from the most cynical of lookers-on. To 
marry a beautiful widow with .£1500 avear of her own is 
scarcely to make a fool of oneself. 

Never since the world began has a man who was desper- 
ately in love troubled himself to ask whether his neighbors 


MARCIA. 


I8i 


considered him a fool or not ; so that it may be taken for 
granted that Archdale’s love for Marcia Brett was not of 
a desperate description. He loved her, however, as much 
as his nature would permit him to love anybody, and, as 
the old nursery rhyme so truly says, “ Don Ferdinando 
can’t do more than he can do.” Perhaps this selfish, easy- 
going artist had in him the makings of an excellent average 
husband, although he was probably better adapted to excel 
in the capacity of a lover. 

But if he was a trifle too cool and self-possessed at this 
critical moment of his life, the same accusation could not 
be brought against Marcia, who was driven homewards in 
a state of tumultuous mental disturbance. She could not 
feel satisfied with herself ; for she had by no means done 
what she had intended to do. So far from having snubbed 
the man whom she loved, she had as good as told him that 
his declaration was only premature. Of course he would 
repeat it ; and when he did so, it would be impossible to 
disguise the truth from him. She did not exactly want to 
disguise it from him ; yet she was keenly alive to the fact 
that so prompt a surrender would give occasion to the 
enemy to blaspheme. It was easy to foretell what Caroline's 
comments would be, and how greatly Sir George’s case 
would be strengthened by the news that his ward was 
about to be saddled with a step-father. And so the struggle, 
is so far as there was any struggle, seemed to narrow itself 
into one between Archdale and Willie.-" She could not bear 
to give'up either of them ; but at the bottom of her heart 
she knew that she would be obliged to give up one or the 
other. 

She had arrived at no decision, and was in that fatal 
attitude of awaiting events which renders those who assume 
it so completely at the mercy of the first person who knows 
how to create events, when Archdale came to see her on 
the following day. So helpless was she that she had 
capitulated before his first attack was made, and her feeble 
efforts to prevent him from saying what he had resolved to 
say were as ineffectual as might have been anticipated. 

“ Of course I care for you,” she confessed, half laughing, 
half crying. “ I suppose you have known that all along, 
and I daresay you despise me for it. Oh, I know what 
men are ; you only value the things that you can’t have. 
If I had any sense at all I should tell you to go away. 


i 82 


MARCIA. 


Besides, I can’t help feeling that it is horrid of me to listen to 
you so soon.” 

Archdale professed himself quite unable to share that 
feeling of compunction. She had done her duty and more 
than her duty. She had lived with that detestable old 
man until he had virtually driven her out of his house ; 
she had never, during his lifetime, overstepped the limits 
of strict propriety ; and now that she was free, nobody 
whose opinion was worth having could dispute her right 
to follow the dictates of her heart. As to her unflattering 
estimate of mankind at large, all he could say was that, if it 
was accurate, he must differ very widely from his fellows. 
It was no hard task to persuade her that he respected as 
much as he loved her ; but he had a good deal of resistance 
to contend against when he pleaded for an immediate mar^ 
riage. 

“ I couldn’t do it ! ” Marcia exclaimed. “ I should like 
to wait at least a year, and I should like our engagement 
to be kept quite secret. It isn’t only that I am afraid of 
Mrs. Grundy, though I don’t pretend to be indifferent with 
regard to Mrs. Grundy ; but if I were to do as you wish, 
that would simply mean cutting myself off from Willie 
altogether. These people are only too eager to find some 
excuse for separating us. They haven’t got one now ; but 
they will have one as soon as they are able to say that I 
have married a second time within three months of Eustace’s 
death. Women who do such things are always called 
horrid women, and I am not sure that they don’t deserve 
it.” 

Now Archdale was by no means blind to the importance 
of standing well with Mrs. Grundy ; but as for this threat- 
ened separation of mother and son, he really could not 
regard that in the light, of a calamity. So he said : “ If 
you love me as much as I love you, Marcia, you won’t 
trouble your head about the scandal-mongers. Whether 
you marry me now or whether you stay on here by your- 
self, people who have any interest in traducing you will 
manage to traduce you : you may be perfectly certain of 
that. You can’t expect me to accept a sentence of a year’s 
banishment from you, and nothing else would be of the 
slightest use. It is far better to give people something 
definite to talk about; the worst that they can say of you 
is that you haven’t taken Mr. Brett’s death very much to 


MARCIA, 


183 

heart. Well, as they already know that you were not on 
speaking terms with him^ they can’t very well magnify that 
into a crime.” 

By means of these and other arguments he carried his 
point in the end. Or else he carried it because he had to 
deal with an opponent to whom one argument was neither 
better nor worse than another. Marcia could not at that 
time have refused him anything that he begged for : added 
to which, she had quite realized when she accepted him 
that in so doing she was handing Willie over to Sir George 
and Lady Brett. She had taken the plunge ; she had made 
the sacrifice ; her chief ‘desire now was to avoid thinking 
about it. 

Nevertheless, she did not enjoy writing a letter which 
had to be despatched to Farnborough a few days later, and 
of which some passages were rendered almost illegible by 
reason of sundry suspicious blots and splashes. 


CHAPTER XXIIL 

WILLIE HEARS TOO MUCH. 

As one hurries along the road of life towards the graveyard, 
which is our common goal, one pauses every now and 
again to cast a backward glance over one’s shoulder at the 
dim landscape of the past. It is a queer, confused sort of 
view that one obtains at such times ; near objects look 
remote ; distant ones stand out with unnatural clearness ; 
not a few which ought to be visible have vanished al- 
together. But certain landmarks there always are (they 
belong for the most part to the first stage of the journey), 
of which every detail remains distinct up to the very end, 
and amongst these Willie Brett will never fail to count the 
arrival of that letter from Florence of which mention was 
made in the last chapter. 

It was a misty November afternoon ; he .had been play- 
ing football, and was changing his muddy flannels in a 
room set apart for that purpose. One of the boys flung a 
wet towel at him which, by a sad mischance, missed its aim 
and, catching the matron full in the face, wound itself round 
her head, so that for an instant or two her just indignation 


184 


MARCIA. 


could only find vent in muffled sounds of which the mean- 
ing had to be conjectured. But when once her mouth was 
free she spoke, and her remarks were very much to the 
point. She was going, it appeared, to complain straight- 
way of Master Brown for his ungentlemanly behavior : 
“ And has for you. Master Brett, I don’t believe but what 
you’re just as bad as the rest of ’em. Sittin’ gigglin’ there 
like a common ploughboy ! You ought to know better — 
and you so ’igh up in the school too ! Oh, there’s a furrin 
letter come for you. Master Brett,” she added, fumbling in 
her pocket. “ ’Ere, catch ’old of it ; and next time you 
write to your m^r you can tell her that your manners isn’t 
what they should be ; though the Lord knows I’ve taken 
trouble enough with you ! ” 

Willie did not tear open the envelope at once, but pre- 
sently carried it off to the schoolroom and, seating himself 
at the desk which was his property for the time being, 
threw up the heavy wooden lid, which he propped upon 
his head — that being the nearest approach to privacy 
obtainable in the establishment. It was always understood 
that a boy who assumed this posture was occupied with 
urgent private affairs and did not wish to be interrupted. 
Well, it was a very lucky thing that the school room hap- 
pened to be empty at that hour ; for when he had finished 
reading what his mother had to tell him, Willie quite forgot 
his advanced age, and the sheet of paper which had already 
been besprinkled by the tears of a still older person received 
two more great drops. And although, perhaps, it was not 
very manly of him to cry, nobody will be inclined to deny 
that he had something to cry about. He was not much 
surprised that his mother should be going to marry a man 
for whom he personally entertained no sentiments bf affec- 
tion j but he was a good deal surprised and not a little 
shocked to hear that the marriage was to take place so 
soon. Like St. Paul, he doubted the expediency of second 
marriages in the abstract, and he had always supposed that 
people who had decided upon that questionable step waited 
at least until they were out of mourning before taking it. 
Of course, however, it was not so much the unconvention- 
ality of the proceeding that distressed him as the conviction 
that, in forming this new tie, his mother had made up her 
mind to cast him off*. The whole tone of her letter, which 
was apologetic and abounded in expressions of love and 


MARCIA. 


I8s 

regret, showed that she recognized that as a necessity. She 
did not speak of seeing him during his holidays ; she did 
not seem to look forward to any prospect of doing so ; she 
even affected to believe that he would be happier in an 
English country-house than she could have hoped to make 
him while wandering about the Continent. “ Only,” she 
added, “ I hope you will think of me sometimes ; for you 
may be sure that I shall always be thinking of you.” 

The boy was hurt and disappointed, as well he might be. 
He had not inherited his mother’s jealous temperament, 
nor did he expect her to live solely for him ; yet it was 
painful to him to know that he no longer held the first 
place in her heart, and scarcely less painful to read her 
abdication in favor of his uncle and aunt, whom he was 
enjoined to treat with submission and respect. And you 
must not mind what they say about me,” Marcia had judged 
it prudent to write ; “ because they are sure to be angry 
with me at first. They will come round in time, I dare- 
say.” 

If they were angry, they refrained from expressing their 
emotions by post. About a week later Willie received one 
of the dry, carefelly-worded epistles which his aunt was in 
the habit of addressing to him from time to time, and in 
the course of it occurred the following brief passage : 

“ News has reached us of your mother’s marriage to Mr. 
Archdale. I understand that she informed you of her 
intentions. I hope, my dear Willie, that, young as you 
are, you know how certain it is that Providence overrules 
all things for our good, and that you will not, therefore, 
rebel against what may at first sight look to you like a mis- 
fortune.” 

That was the only intimation that he had of the fulfil- 
ment of his mother’s intentions. She did not write to him 
again, nor did he know whether she had left Florence or 
not. Weeks passed away ; he had his own methodical 
round of work and play to occupy him; if he placed no 
great reliance upon the intervention of Providence in his 
affairs, he had common-sense enough to make the best of 
accomplished facts. But his youth — that joyous, unthink- 
ing period which rarely runs out its natural course even 
with the most fortunate of us — had received its death- 
blow, and from being a merry, jolly sort of boy he became 
a somewhat serious one. His physical health, however, 


i86 


MARCIA. 


remained excellent ; so that when Christmas cam'e and he 
betook himself to Blaydon for the holidays, Sir George 
was delighted to welcome an heir who looked as robust 
as the last representative of a respectable family ought to 
look. 

“ I am going to send you to Eton at the beginning of 
the next half/’ was almost the first thing that his uncle 
said to him. “ Your future tutor has a vacancy in his 
house, and from the reports that I have sent him, he has 
no doubt, he says, about your getting into Upper School. 
That’s all right as far as it goes, and I’m sure I don’t want 
you to neglect your opportunities of becoming a fair clas- 
sical scholar ; but I’m glad to hear that you are pretty good 
at games too. One kind of education is suitable for one 
boy and another kind for another. The chances are that 
you will never have to earn your own living ; so it is im- 
portant that you should excel in athletics. By accom- 
plishing that you may form friendships with young fellows 
whose friendship will be valuable to you after your school 
and college days are at an end.” 

A great many boys are sent to Eton with no other ob- 
ject than that which Sir George Brett so frankly avowed j 
and although the object is seldom attained, the boys, it 
may be hoped, profit by their temporary residence in a 
sort of aristocratic republic where class distinctions meet 
with very little recognition. Willie neither knew nor cared 
anything about that ; but he was glad that he was about 
to be sent to a public school, and he had certainly no 
reason to complain of his uncle and aunt, who did their 
best to be kind to him. Not much liberty was permitted 
him, nor was hilarity a prominent feature of life at, Blay- 
don ; still he had his pony, and the keeper was instructed 
to take him out shooting, and he was told that if at any 
time he should wish to invite one of his schoolfellows to 
spend a week with him he might do so. 

Encouraged by these favors, he ventured, one day, to 
ask Sir George where his mother was, and when he might 
hope to see her once more ; but the reply which he obtained 
was by no means satisfactory. Sir George frowned, threw 
back his head and answered : 

“ Your mother, to the best of my belief, is in Italy ; I 
have made no inquiries, and I do not propose to make any. 
I cannot tell you when you will see her, or whether you 


MARCIA, 


187 

will ever see her again ; but this I can say — and I am very 
sorry to be obliged to say it — you will never see her under 
my roof, d'he subject is a painful one ; I must ask you to 
abstain from recurring to it.” 

The fact was that Sir George had been far more horri- 
fied than his wife by Marcia’s precipitancy. He had 
looked forward to her re-marriage as a highly probable 
event ; but he had expected her to keep within the limits 
imposed upon widows by ordinary custom, and when he 
heard of what he stigmatized as a wanton violation of all 
common decency he was genuinely angry. Lady Brett 
declared that for her part she was not in the least aston- 
ished. She had neven fallen into the ridiculous error of 
imagining that women are good because they are pretty ; 
indeed her experience would have led her, if anything, to 
quite the contrary conclusion. Still she was of opinion 
that good might come out of evil if the eyes of those who 
had hitherto believed in Marcia were now opened ; and 
when Willie, after having been rebuffed by his uncle, made 
an appeal to her, she was able to say quite kindly : 

“ My dear, I condemn nobody ; I am too conscious of 
my own shortcomings to presume to judge others. But 
men are less merciful — perhaps in some ways they are 
more just — than we are, and I doubt whether your uncle 
will ever consent to receive Mrs. Archdale. He may be 
wrong in holding her answerable for your poor, dear father’s 
death ; but I am afraid we cannot call him wrong when he 
accuses her of unnaturally heartless conduct. The most 
charitable thing that we can do is to say nothing about 
her.” 

Under the circumstances, that seemed to be at any rate 
the most prudent plan to act upon, and Willie kept his 
thoughts to himself. He was ready, in case of his mother’s 
demanding that he should be restored to her, to back her 
up to the utmost of his small ability ; he was ready to run 
away from Blaydon or to attempt any other adventurous 
enterprise that might be required of him ; but obviously 
he could not take the first step. He must have some 
assurance that his mother desired his company before 
he could venture to thrust it upon her and her new hus- 
band. 

No such assurance reached him ; but towards the end 
of January there came a very kindly invitation from Lady 


i88 


MARCIA. 


Wetherby, who wrote to say that her son was about tc 
proceed to Eton, and that, as she had understood that 
Willie was bound for the same destination, it would be 
pleasant for the boys to go down together. She hoped, 
therefore, that Sir George Brett would see no objection to 
his nephew’s spending the last few days of the holidays 
with them in London. Sir George, whose respect for the 
aristocracy of his native land has already been hinted at, 
hastened to return thanks in his nephew’s name and his 
own, and to accept this friendly proposal on behalf of the 
former. 

“ I do not wish you to be a snob or a tuft-hunter, Willie,” 
said he — for he thought that some such caution might be 
necessary — your own position is quite good enough to 
entitle you to associate with anybody, and I daresay that 
you will eventually be better off than many young earls 
and viscounts. Nevertheless, I think that, in choosing 
your friends, you will do well to pay some regard to the 
matter of birth, and you may depend upon it that those 
who affect to despise birth are either silly or insincere. I 
should be glad to hear that you had made friends with 
young Lord Malton, who will inherit a very large fortune 
as well as an ancient title.” 

It is probably no bad thing for the heir to a large fortune 
and an ancient title that he should be well kicked in the 
earlier part of his career, and it will be perceived that Sir 
George’s remarks were admirably adapted to secure for 
Lord Malton any advantage that may follow from that 
method of treatment. But Willie Brett belonged to the 
order of human beings who always make the best fighters ; 
that is to say that his inclinations were quite peaceable. 
So he only said to himself that he hoped the other fellow 
wouldn’t put on airs upon the strength of being an earl or 
a viscount or whatever he was ; because in that case it 
would naturally become his (Willie’s) duty to knock such 
pernicious nonsense out of him. 

Happily, Lord Malton proved to be a fat, good-humored 
little boy upon whom no consciousness of his social im- 
portance had as yet dawned. He extended a friendly 
welcome to the new-comer, and, having ascertained that 
their tastes coincided in certain essential particulars, gave 
him to understand that he might make himself quite at 
home. But indeed that was what every member of the 


marc/a. 


189 

establishment, from its head downwards, gave him to un- 
derstand. They were very kind to him, and Lord We- 
therby taught him to play billiards, an^d Lady Wetherby 
took him to the theatre and to other places of amusement, 
so that he had more fun during the last three days of his 
holidays than in all the previous ones put together. He 
said as much to his hostess, who laughed and replied that 
if he had enjoyed himself he must come again. 

“ But I hope you don’t dislike living with your uncle 
and aunt, do you ? ” she asked, looking at him with 
wistful, motherly eyes; for she could not comprehend 
Marcia’s abandonment of the boy, and it seemed to her a 
most melancholy thing that he should be deprived of his 
natural home. 

“ I haven’t minded it so much this time,” Willie an- 
swered. “ They’re right enough when you know them ; 
only they aren’t a bit like you and Lord Wetherby, you 
know. It doesn’t do to speak to Aunt Caroline unless she 
speaks to you ; and then if you make a mistake in gram- 
mar she lets you hear of it. I shouldn’t like to live at 
Blaydon always. My mother will want me to go back to 
her some day, I should think,” he added, coloring slightly. 
“ Shouldn’t you think so ? ” 

“Oh, I am sure she must want you,” Lady Wetherby 
declared ; “ but one can’t always have what one wants, 
you see.” 

The subject, in fact, was a somewhat difficult one to 
discuss, and Lady Wetherby did not know the ins and outs 
of it; so she merely remarked : “ Your mother w'as one 
of my oldest friends, and I hope she hasn’t forgotten me, 
though she has given up writing to me of late. Now I 
must go and dress, or I shan’t be ready in time for dinner.” 

But if information as to what had become of his mother, 
which Willie was most eager to gain, yet did not like to 
ask for in so many words, was not obtainable in that 
quarter, he accidentally heard what he wanted, and some- 
thing more into the bargain, on the following morning. 
Malton had taken him round to the stables, and the two 
boys, after critically examining the horses, had entered an 
empty loose-box, when Lord Wetherby strolled in, accom- 
panied by a friend who was staying in the house, and to 
whom he was saying, apparently in answer to some question : 

“ Oh, yes, I suppose he’ll come into a lot of money 


190 


MARCIA. 


some fine day, poor little chap ! As far as that goes, you 
may say that he’s lucky ; but it’s hard lines upon him to 
be thrown over by his mother. I always understood that 
she was devoted to the boy ; but women are queer creatures ; 
they’ll give up anything and anybody for the sake of a man 
whom they’re in love with — especially if he don’t happen 
to be worth much. That beggar Archdale is a clever artist, 
but he’s about the laziest rascal and the coolest hand I 
ever met. He undertook to do some work for me and 
left it three-parts finished without so much as an apology, 
though he hasn’t forgotten to make me pay him pretty 
heavily on account. What with that and what with his 
wife’s money, he feels too rich to work at present, I take it. 
Somebody told me the other day that he had seen them at 
Cannes, where they were living on the fat of the land and 
having a fine time of it. That sort of thing will go on, I 
expect, until he has got to the end of the poor woman’s 
fortune, and tired of her face. It’s a pity.” 

“ Well,” observed Lord Wetherby’s friend, “ perhaps 
when her husband has had enough of her she will have had 
enough of him, and then she may remember that she has 
a son.” 

“Perhaps; but I should doubt it; women invariably 
adore men who neglect them. Besides, old Brett, who has 
no children of his own, won’t surrender the boy now. He 
has been appointed guardian, and I believe Mrs. Archdale 
consented to waive her claims.” 

Lord Wetherby and his friend remained for a few min- 
utes longer, talking about horses, and then left the stables 
without having discovered the involuntary eavesdroppers, of 
whom one had become very red in the face, while the other 
had turned rather pale. Malton displayed a discretion 
beyond his years by making no allusion to the conversation 
which they had overheard, and Willie, with a dull pain at 
his heart from which he was not destined to be free for 
many a long day, tried to behave as though nothing was 
the matter. 

It was a fortunate thing for the poor little man that the 
next week was such a busy and important one in his life. 
During the period which immediately follows one’s en- 
trance upon a public school career there is no time for 
brooding and not very much for thinking. Willie had to 
familiarize himself with the manners and customs of a place 


MAKCIA. 


191 

which had little in common with the Farnborough establish- 
ment ; he had also to satisfy the curiosity of a great many 
young gentlemen who wanted to know what his name was, 
were he came from, and, in a general way, what was the 
good of him } finally, he had to pass an examination, the 
result of which he awaited with anxiety. Only before 
he feel asleep at night had he leisure to reflect upon the 
perplexing cruelty of fate. What had he done that his 
mother should cease all of a sudden to care about him ? 
Why should she cease to care about him because she 
cared more — if she really did care more — for somebody 
else ? Had he been twenty years older, he could 
have answered the questions without difficulty, but 
perhaps also without truth. Being so young and so 
unsophisticated, he could only assume that there must 
be some mistake, which would be set straight ere long ; 
because, after all, Lord Wetherby’s assertions, when 
considered calmly, were incredible. So he made up his 
mind that there was nothing for it but faith and patience ; 
and he “ took ” middle fourth which was respectable, if 
not brilliant j and gradually he shook into his place and 
formed friendships, and began to enjoy life again. Never- 
theless, he could not altogether free himself from that 
heartache which is so much more painful and so much 
more unnatural in boyhood than in later years. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

A FRUITLESS APPEAL. 

“ Ah, dear me ! ” exclaimed Arch dale, removing the cigar- 
ette from between his lips in order to heave a sigh, “ what 
a jolly place this world would be if one could do one’s 
work by proxy ! ” 

He was reclining in an easy chair beneath the shade of 
a spreading ilex, and he looked as if he did not find this 
world such a very bad place to live in, notwithstanding its 
imperfections. Beneath him the blue Mediterranean 
stretched away to meet the sky ; the Lerins Islands in the 
middle distance and the innumerable villas and hotels of 
Cannes in the foreground were basking under the rays of a 


192 


MARCIA, 


sun which was like that of an English midsummer ; upon 
a small table at his elbow stood two empty coffee-cups, and 
from the other side of it Marcia was contemplating him 
with happy and admiring eyes. 

“ Oh, but Cecil,’* said she, “ nobody except you could 
do your work.” 

“Quite so; that’s just what I complain of. Work is a 
most abominable nuisance ; but when it has to be done 
with one’s own hands or not done at all one must endure 
what can’t be cured. Therefore,” he added, with another 
sigh, “ I suppose we had better hunt out Bradshaw and 
get our clothes packed and turn our faces towards Lon- 
don, like everybody else.” 

“Towards London ! ” echoed Marcia, in somewhat dis- 
mayed accents. “ Do you really want to go back to Lon- 
don, Cecil ? ” 

“ Not one little bit, my dear ; I should like to stay where 
I am. But one’s fellow-creatures are departing, and the 
mosquitoes'are arriving, and — well, everything must come 
to an end, unfortunately, including the happiest winter of 
one’s life.” 

“ But it need not end in a disagreeable way,” returned 
Marcia quickly. “ I do so hate the idea of showing my- 
self in London again ! And I thought one of the advantages 
of being an artist was that one could work anywhere.” 

Archdale shook his head and laughed. “ One can make 
a sketch anywhere,” he answered, “ but painting a picture 
is another affair. Moreover, some of my pictures have to 
be painted upon other people’s walls, you see. I must 
confess that I have behaved quite scandalously to your 
friends, the Wetherbys. However, I’ll make amends now ; 
and there’s just this to be said for me, that when I do 
work I work hard.” 

Marcia could not but admit that her husband was in the 
right. She was too proud of him and too ambitious on 
his behalf to wish that he should drop out of sight, and 
she knew that reputations are more easily lost than main- 
tained. At the same time, she shrank from the ordeal 
which a return to England must necessarily entail. She 
had done nothing disgraceful ; yet it was certain that many 
people would look askance at her. Her separation from 
Eustace had been an awkward circumstance ; the haste 
with which she had married again was more awkward still ; 


MARCIA, 


*93 


most awkward of all was the fact that her present husband 
had been compromisingly attentive to her during the last 
season which she had spent in London. All this she had 
thought of before and had regretted — because it was exces- 
sively painful to her to forfeit the respect of her acquaint- 
ances — but latterly she had contrived to put away from 
her every thought and every memory that was of a nature 
to cause her pain. Her feeling, or what she imagined to 
be her feeling, was that any sacrifice made for Cecil’s sake 
was a joy. She had been perfectly happy with him so 
far : she had been convinced that for the rest of her life 
her happiness must be bound up in his, and that was why 
she had never even written to Willie since her wedding- 
day. It was better, she had thought, to cut herself off 
altogether and finally from the past. She had been forced 
to choose between old ties and new ones, and she had 
made her choice. For Willie’s worldly advantage she had 
surely chosen aright. He was now to all intents and pur- 
poses an orphan who had been adopted by a rich uncle ; 
as for herself, she was Marcia Archdale ; Marcia Brett 
was dead and gone. But when she went out for a solitary 
walk that afternoon (her husband having an engagement 
at the Cercle Nautique which he declared that he could 
not possibly break) it was borne in upon her that one 
cannot change one’s identity at will. For a month or two 
it may be possible to believe that there is only one person 
in the world whose weal or woe is of the smallest conse- 
quence ; but this cannot be the truth, save in a few very rare 
instances, and it certainly was not the truth as regarded 
herself. 

Along the fdite of the hill-side above Cannes runs a nar- 
row, open aqueduct which supplies the reservoirs whence 
the town draws its drinking water. Thither Marcia 
climbed, and, after having walked for some little distance 
by its banks, seated herself upon the ground in a shady 
spot. Then she drew from her pocket a letter which she 
had not read more than a dozen times, because she had 
found that she could not do so without crying, and because 
it is silly to cry when one is happy. However, the usual 
effect was produced upon her by the reperusal of poor 
Willie’s reply to her announcement of her intended mar- 
riage. It was a composition upon which much time and 
pains had evidently been bestowed ; there was nothing in 

13 


194 


MARCIA, 


it to hurt the feelings of the most sensitive of brides or 
widows ; but that, of course, was just what rendered it so 
desperately reproachful. When Marcia read again the 
little formal, childish phrases, every one of which she 
already knew by heart, she felt that she had been attempt- 
ing an absolute impossibility all this time. 

“ Oh, my own dear boy,” she exclaimed, through her 
tears, “I can’t forget you, and I wouldn’t if I could ! I 
must see you again ; I must tell you that I love you as 
much as ever, though I daresay you won’t believe me.” 

And so, that evening, it came to pass that Mr. Arch- 
dale was agreeably surprised to find his wife quite eager 
to make a start. He knew as well as she did that they 
were not likely to be received with open arms on their 
return to their native land, and he had expected her to 
oppose him in the matter ; but as it was really essential 
that he should pass a few months in London, he was grate- 
ful to her for her ready assent, the cause of which he did 
not surmise. He flattered himself that her love for him 
had weaned her from all other affections ; and this was not 
inexcusable on his part, seeing that she had repeatedly 
assured him that such was the fact. 

It was soon after Easter that they reached London and 
took up their quarters at an hotel in Cork Street which 
had been recommended to them. Eton boys get a 
month’s holiday at Easter, but that was a circumstance 
which Archdale had no special reason for remembering, 
nor did he understand his wife’s anxiety to find out the 
exact date on which the vacation was supposed to end. 

“ It all depends upon whose vacation you mean,” he 
said. “ If you are thinking of the smart people, I should 
say that you might look forward to seeing them in about a 
week.” 

Oh, I haven’t time to see anybody ! ” answered 
Marcia, somewhat disingenuously, although it was true 
enough that her leisure moments were few. 

They had agreed that they could not stand the discomfort 
and expense of an hotel for the whole season, and thus a 
process of house-hunting, the burden of which fell entirely 
upon Marcia’s shoulders, was inevitable. Her husband 
good-naturedly told her that any house which might suit 
her would be sure to suit him, so that there was no occa- 
sion for him to waste time which he could employ more 


MARCIA, 


195 


profitably in his studio by accompanying her on her search 
expeditions. These were tiring and at first disappointing ; 
but she ended by discovering a modest mansion in South 
Kensington which seemed suitable for their purpose ; and, 
on hearing her description of it, Archdale at once gave her 
the authority to close with the house agent’s offer. 

“ And I think,” he added, “ the best plan will be for you 
to move in and get things straight as soon as possible. I 
wrote to Lord Wetherby the other day to ask when it 
would be convenient for him to let me finish my work at 
his place, and this afternoon I had an answer from him 
saying that I could name my own time. So, if you don’t 
mind. I’ll go now and get it over. I shall be back in less 
than a fortnight most likely, and I’ll daresay you’ll be glad 
to have me out of the way while you are settling down and 
engaging servants and so forth.” 

It was with mixed feelings that Marcia heard of this 
project. She had reasons of her own for being glad that 
her husband should leave London just then ; but she did 
not quite like his leaving her at all, and she was a little 
mortified by her exclusion from an invitation which she 
would have refused, had it been extended to her. 

“ Didn’t Laura Wetherby ask me to go with you? ” she 
inquired. 

“ Well, it wasn’t from her that I heard, you see. Lord 
Wetherby’s letter was a sort of business communication, 
and as I didn’t mention you in writing to him, I suppose 
he forgot that I am no longer a bachelor.” 

Anyhow, I couldn’t have gone ; so it doesn’t matter,” 
observed Marcia, who nevertheless knew that neither 
Lord nor Lady Wetherby could really have forgotten her 
existence. 

But it was not of the prejudice and injustice of these old 
friends — for which, in truth, she had been fully prepared — 
that she was thinking while she set about making the South 
Kensington house inhabitable. As she was fond of pretty 
things, she would probably have spent a good deal more 
time upon that process had she been less feverishly eager 
to put herself in communication with Sir George Brett, to 
whom, on the second day after Archdale’s departure for the 
north, she indited a letter so humble in tone and so modest 
as to its request that she did not see how any man 
possessed of a human heart could answer it unfavorably. 


196 


MARCIA, 


All that she asked was to be allowed one interview with 
her son ; she left it to Sir George to say when and where 
the interview should take place ; she disclaimed any wish 
to interfere with existing arrangements, and she promised 
that she would not say a single word to the boy which 
might render him discontented with his lot. 

This appeal she addressed to Blaydon Hall ; the con- 
sequence of which was that she had to wait through two 
days of misery and suspense for the following reply, which 
was dated “ Portman Square.” 

“ Madam, — Circumstancse have prevented us from moving down to 
he country this Easter ; hence my delay in acknowledging the receipte 
tof your note. I regret that I cannot see my way to comply with th 
suggestion put forward therein. Both Lady Brett and I feel that we 
ought not to sanction any meeting between you and one whom we now 
regard as our own child. We think that the tendency of such a meeting 
would be to unsettle his mind, and I am compelled to add that we do 
not think ourselves bound to stretch a point or do a foolish thing for 
the sake of gratifying a mere caprice on your part. Rightly or wrongly, 
we consider that the step which you have recently taken is not com- 
patible with the maternal affection to which you lay claim ; the per- 
formance of what appears to us to be our manifest duty is, therefore, 
the less painful to us. Painful it must necessarily be to us to decline 
all further intercourse with our sister-in-law ; still we have the con- 
solation of knowing that in doing so we are actuated by no resentful or 
unworthy motives. 1 will only add that our determination must be 
taken as final and unalterable, and that 

“ I am, Madam, 

“ Your obedient servant, 

‘‘George Brett.” 

The combination of George and Caroline which was 
perceptible in every line of this dignified missive might 
have tickled Marcia’s sense of humor if she had had any 
sense of humor to be tickled, and if she had not been far 
too disappointed and angry to be amused. As it was,, she 
could only vituperate her brother-in-law’s cruelty, and if 
there was one passage of his letter which struck her as 
being more cruel than another, it was that in which he 
had accused her of a lack of maternal affection. Such, 
doubtless, was the impression which he desired to convey 
to Willie, and such was the false impression which it was 
not only her right but her duty to remove. 

By what means she was to achieve this legitimate object 
was, however, another question. Of course, she might 
write to Willie j only writing is seldom satisfactory, and 


MARCIA. 


197 


written words are more easily explained away than spoken 
ones. Besides, she was dying to see her boy. She had 
made up her mind that she would be allowed to see him 
at least once, and to tell her that she must surrender that 
hope was like telling a starving man that he must not eat. 
One scarcely blames a starving man if he steals the food 
which is denied to him ; so that Marcia may perhaps be 
excused for considering how she might effect a surreptitious 
entrance into Sir George Brett’s house in Portman Square. 
But the longer she considered this the more impossible did 
it appear to her to attempt anything of the kind. She had 
not courage enough to dress herself up in some disguise \ 
she had not imagination enough to invent a story which 
would insure her admission, nor had she any means of 
guessing at what hour Willie would be likely to be at home 
and his uncle and aiTnt out. Her one idea was to tip the 
butler and appeal to his compassion — which perhaps was 
not such a bad idea, after all, seeing that Sir George was a 
little bit too rich to be tipped, and that he apparently did 
not know the meaning of pity. But if there was a human 
being more destitute of pity than Sir George, that wretch 
was unquestionably his wife ; and Marcia, who was well 
acquainted with Lady Brett’s habit of driving slowly round 
and round the Park every day between the hours of four 
and six, thought it only prudent to deliver her first assault 
upon the citadel at a time of day when the mistress of the 
establishment was almost certain to be absent. Willie, it 
was true, would probably be absent also ; but the butler, 
at all events, would be at his post, and from that function- 
ary useful information might be obtained. 

She set forth with some trepidation, yet with a determin- 
ation not to be baulked of her purpose, which was perhaps 
as serviceable to her as any definite plan would have been. 
By hook or by crook she meant to get speech of her son, 
and a mother who has formed a resolution of that kind is 
a difficult person to defeat. Sir George quite thought 
that he had defeated her ; but then Sir George labored 
under the double disadvantage of being a man and a rather 
stupid one into the bargain. 


198 


MARCIA, 


CHAPTER XXV. 

AN EMPTY TRIUMPH. 

Not until she had reached the door of Sir George Brett’s 
house in Portman Square did it occur to Marcia that she 
would find herself in a somewhat awkward fix if, contrary 
to her expectation, her sister-in-law should receive her. 
But her momentary anxiety on this point was relieved by 
the butler, who appeared in response to her ring and who 
at once said, “ Not at home, m’m,” while he gazed over 
her head into vacancy. 

“ Is Lady Brett out, or doesn’t she receive ? ” inquired 
Marcia. 

“ Her ladyship is gone out driving, m’m.” 

Now Marcia knew this man, who had evidently recog- 
nized her, although he affected not to do so. “ Benson,” 
said she, holding between her finger and thumb the sove- 
reign with which she had provided herself for his benefit, 
“ 1 wish to see Master Willie. I suppose he isn’t in the 
house now ; but probably you can tell me at what time I 
should have the best chance of finding him if I came 
again.” 

Benson gazed pensively at the coin and remained silent ; 
but when it had been transferred to his palm he lowered 
his voice and replied. “ Well, m’m, to tell you the truth. 
Master Willie is in, and I’m sure I should be very pleased 
for him to see his mar, which he’s always askin’ me about 
you, m’m. But I’m sorry to say as I’ve had very positive 
orders not to admit you, m’m.” 

Marcia immediately stepped past him and entered the 
hall. You can’t turn me out now,” she remarked. “ It 
is no fault of yours that I have farced my way into the 
house, and of course it would be impossible for you to use 
physical force with a lady. Now, Benson, you can go and 
" call Master Willie. I shall wait for him in the library, and 
\ shall not stay more than half an hour^ ^^ady Brett peed, 


MARC/A. 


199 


not know that I have been here. For that matter, I have 
a perfect right to be here — as I should think you must be 
aware.” 

Benson shook his head, but smiled and only begged Mrs. 
Brett to bear in mind that she would get him into a serious 
trouble if she outstayed her time. So Marcia was shown into 
the library, a rather dismal apartment, containing several 
hundred books which nobody ever dreamt of removing 
from their shelves, and there, with a beating heart, awaited 
a meeting which she had not dared to expect so soon, and 
which, as she now felt for the first time, might prove more 
painful than joyful. 

But she was not kept waiting long, nor were her half- 
formed fears realized. For presently there came a sound 
as of somebody running downstairs at the top of his speed, 
then the door was flung open, and before she could draw 
a breath a great big boy, who had thrown his arms round 
her neck, was kissing her upon both cheeks. Well, it was 
a moment of pure, unalloyed happiness, a moment to be 
remembered afterwards with thankfulness and tears, one of 
those moments which only come here and there into any- 
body’s life, and which, at the best of times, are but tran- 
sitory. 

“ Did you think I had forgotten you, Willie ? ” Marcia 
asked, when she had drawn her boy down upon a sofa 
beside her and was holding his hand in one of hers, the 
other being employed in wiping her eyes. 

“ I didn’t know,” answered Willie, and his voice was not 
quite as steady as it might have been, notwithstanding his 
age and the fine proportions of his person. “You never 
wrote to me, and Aunt Caroline said ” 

“ Oh, but I told you that you must never believe what 
they said about me ! ” interrupted Marcia reproachfully. 
“ They don’t care what they say ; all they want is to make 
you believe that I am a heartless wretch. But, oh, my own 
dear Willie, you don’t believe that, do you? You can't 
believe it ! ” 

It was true enough that he could not believe it and 
therefore had not beJieved it, although his trust in her had 
been put to a more severe test than the trust of most of 
those whom we love will bear without snapping. He was 
able to give her the assurance that she asked for, and when 
he, on his side, made a complaint which 5jbe admitted tjiiat 
he was entitled to make* she answered : 


200 


MARCIA, 


“ Oh, I had a hundred reasons for not writing. It 
wasn’t that I didn’t want to write ; but I knew you 
wouldn’t like my marrying again — of course you couldn’t 
like it — and — and I thought ” 

She paused because it was impossible to confess the 
truth, which was that she had thought she might begin a 
new life, in which he should have no part, and that it would 
be a great deal better for him if she could contrive, to do 
so. “ We won’t talk of that,” she resumed, for indeed it 
was against her nature to talk of anything disagreeable. 
“ Tell me about Eton. Are you happy there ? Do you 
like it better than Farnborough ? But of course you do : 
I always knew you would. And oh, Willie, what a dandy 
you are, and what a giant you are growing ! You must be 
nearly as tall as I am. Stand up and let us measure.” 

The boy humored her and answered her questions. He 
had plenty of news to give her ; he knew from of old that 
she could enter into every thought and wish of his ; it was 
delightful to him to hear her voice again, to look into her 
eyes and to find her so little changed. Yet he could not 
ask her for information which she would not volunteer, 
and so there was a certain restraint upon their intercourse 
of which Marcia became conscious after a while. At 
length she dropped his hand, sighed and looked at her 
watch. “ I shall have to go "away presently,” she said in 
lugubrious accents. 

“ But why ? ” asked Willie eagerly. “ Who can pre- 
vent your coming to see me if you want to come ? ” 

“ Oh, your uncle, of course,” Marcia answered : “ this is 
his house, you know, and he can forbid me to enter it. In 
fact, he has forbidden me. He has chosen to quarrel with 
me, and I shouldn’t have been admitted now if he or your 
aunt had been at home, and if I hadn’t given Benson a 
sovereign.” 

“ Then,” said Willie decisively, “ I’ll quarrel with him 
too. He can forbid me to enter his house if he likes — 
and welcome ! ” 

But Marcia explained that that plan, attractive though 
it might appear at first sight, was not one which could be 
seriously entertained. “ Your uncle is your guardian,” 
she said, and — and — I think most likely you will be his 
heir. I should never forgive myself if you were to quarrel 
with him for my sake. Besides, I don’t suppose that he 


MARCIA, 


201 


would let you quarrel with him ; he would say that you 
were too young to know your own mind. No ; we must 
have patience and wait. Perhaps, some day, when you 
are grown up — but I can’t look forward so far as that.” 

Willie declared that he also was unable to project him- 
self in imagination through the mists which obscured the 
distant future. What he wanted was his mother’s com- 
panionship in the present, and if that boon could only be 
obtained by defying his uncle, he saw no reason why his 
uncle should not be defied. “ What can Uncle George do 
to us, supposing that we choose to disobey him ? ” was his 
pertinent query. 

Marcia really could not say. She was inclined to believe 
that Sir George had all the power and majesty of the law 
to support him ; yet she doubted whether he would risk 
the scandal of setting the law in motion. To send a couple 
of policemen with instructions to tear the son from his 
mother’s arms would be too ridiculous, even if such a pro- 
ceeding were legal. “ Possibly he might not do anything 
very dreadful to us,” she answered at length ; “ but I am 
afraid it would be rather foolish of us to snap our fingers 
in his face. Perhaps you could sometimes come and see 
me without letting him know where you have been.” 

Willie did not seem to fancy this suggestion very much. 

I’d a good deal rather tell the truth about it,” he 
answered ; “ I don’t funk Uncle George.” 

What Marcia was thinking — only she did not like to say 
so — was that somebody besides Sir George would have to 
be reckoned with. For herself, she asked nothing better 
than that Willie should be restored to her, and she would 
consider such happiness purchased upon easy terms even 
though it should entail the sacrifice of his golden prospects, 
but she was by no means sure that Cecil would take that 
view. She did not realize that the boy perfectly under- 
stood her position, and was far too proud to inflict himself 
upon her as a burden. Perhaps he guessed what was pass- 
ing through her mind ; for, as she made no reply, he went 
on : “I know I’ve got to live with Uncle George, and I’ve 
done what you told me and been respectful to him and all 
that ; but I believe he’d cave in if I told him straight out 
that I meant to go and see you every now and then.” 

Willie had taken his uncle’s measure accurately enough ; 
nothing was more probable than that Sir George would 


202 


MARCIA, 


yield to firm opposition. But Marcia, who did not forget 
that Sir George was a married man, was of opinion that 
stratagem was safer than challenge. 

“ So long as I can see you,” said she, ‘‘ I don’t much care 
how we manage it ; only I think we should try to avoid 
provoking more quarrels. We might easily arrange to meet 
somewhere or other two or three times a week without 
being discovered.” 

‘‘Yes, we could do that,” Willie assented doubtfully; 
“ but Aunt Caroline generally asks me where I have been, 
and I can’t tell her a lie, you know.” 

Marcia’s own conscience, like that of most women, did 
not forbid her an occasional suppressio veri; yet it was 
sensitive enough to shrink from a suggestion of casuistry 
to others. So she only said : “ If the worst comes to the 
worst you will have to confess that you have been with me ; 
only I am sure that, when you do, they will say that it 
mustn’t happen again. All we can hope for is that they 
won’t ask troublesome questions.” 

Now, as they were quite certain to ask questions, this 
was evidently a forlorn hope to trust to, and Willie did his 
best to point out what a much better chance of success 
would be secured by the display of a little courage. He 
ended by partially convincing his mother ; but it took him 
some little time to arrive at that point, so that Marcia had 
been more than an hour in the library before she noticed 
how late it was. 

“ I must go ! ” she exclaimed ; “ I wouldn’t for all the 
world let your uncle or your aunt find me here.” 

Hardly were the words out of her mouth when the door 
was opened and Sir George, who by ill-luck had returned 
straight home from the City, walked in. The situation 
was an awkward one ; but there was no escaping from it, 
and Marcia did what is always the wisest thing to do in an 
awkward situation by holding her tongue. Sir George, 
being completely taken aback, simply ejaculated “ Hullo ! ” 
— after which there was a prolonged pause. 

Willie, mindful of his duty to his elders, allowed them 
what he considered a sufficient time in which to speak first ; 
but, since neither of them profited by the opportunity 
accorded to them, he took matters into his own hands and 
said, in his clear, boyish voice : “ Mother came here to see 
me, Uncle George. She thinks you will be angry abqut it ; 


MARCIA. 


S03 

but there isn’t any good in being angry, you know, because 
we can’t get on without meeting sometimes. You needn’t 
see her unless you like.” 

Sir George broke into a laugh. Upon my word, young 
gentleman,” said he, “ you have a pretty cool way of 
stating your intentions. Is that the sort of speech that you 
are in the habit of making to your tutor at Eton, I wonder. 
Well, now that you have said what you have to say, per- 
haps you will bid Mrs. Archdale good-bye and leave us. I 
also have to state my humble intentions ; but your presence 
will not be required while I am doing so.” 

It was evident that the boy’s self-assertion had not dis- 
pleased him, and Willie cast an encouraging glance at his 
mother which was intended to mean “ I told you so ! ” 
He went up to her and kissed her, saying, “ We shall meet 
again soon, sha’n’t we ? ” Then he obediently left the 
room. « 

Marcia had risen, and Sir George did not ask her to 
resume her seat — which was perhaps rather uncivil of him ; 
but allowances must be made for a man who was in des- 
perate fear lest his sense of what was just and right should 
be obscured by the emotions of a generous and compas- 
sionate nature. He therefore remained standing and, after 
clearing his voice and endeavoring to look as formidable 
as he was sure that he often looked in the City, began : 
“ Mrs. Archdale, I am compelled to say that this is a most 
unwarrantable intrusion. May I inquire the meaning of 
it ? ” 

“ You have just been told the meaning of it,” answered 
Marcia, who, now that she had been brought to bay, was 
not disinclined to show fight. “ I need not say that it was 
very disagreeable to me to come to your house ; but that 
seemed to be my only chance of seeing Willie. By the 
way, don’t you think that it is rather absurd to address me 
as ‘ Mrs. Archdale ’ ? ” 

“ It may be ; but I am unable to perceive the absurdity 
of calling you by your name. The extraordinary haste 
with which you assumed that name would have led me to 
suppose that you were proud of bearing it. However 
that may be, I can no longer consider you as belonging 
to our family, nor do I wjsh to claim the privileges of a 
relative.” 


204 MARCIA, 

“ I certainly do not wish to force them upon you,” 
returned Marcia ; “ but whether I have ceased to be your 
sister-in-law or not, you will admit that I have not ceased 
to be Willie’s mother.” 

“ Excuse me ; you have to all intents and purposes 
ceased to occupy that position. I should perhaps be jus- 
tified in saying that you have forfeited it morally ; but I 
will not say so, I will merely remind you that you forfeited 
it legally when my poor brother nominated me as the sole 
guardian of his child. Situated as I am, I can but use my 
own judgment in matters relating to your son’s welfare, 
and, as you are aware, I do not think that his welfare 
would be promoted, were I to allow you to visit him.” 

The man’s pomposity irritated Marcia even more than 
his insensibility. She longed to tell him what a perfect 
fool he looked, but curbed that natural inclination and 
only said : “ Will you condescend to tell me why I am not 
a fit companion for my own son ? ” 

Sir George waved his hand and shook his head. “ I 
must decline,” he answered, to be drawn into a discus- 
sion which could be neither useful nor profitable. My 
decision, as I think I mentioned to you in my letter, is 
irrevocable. I am sorry that in spite of what I wrote to you, 
you should have thought fit to force your way into my 
house ; but we will say no more about that. I shall take 
measures to prevent any recurrence of the — er — indiscre- 
tion.” 

Now, if Marcia had had all her wits about her she would 
doubtless have attempted by means of a little judicious 
flattery to soften the heart of this self-satisfied old gentle- 
man, and it is quite within the bounds of possibility 
that she would have succeeded ; but she was excited and 
nervous, and she could not help seeing that there was no 
great strength of purpose in him, and she remembered 
Willie’s advice, which seemed to be grounded on princi- 
ples of common-sense ; so she said boldly : “ I don’t care 
what measures you may take ; I have submitted to a great 
deal, but I will not submit to be parted from Willie, nor 
will he submit to be parted from me. You can’t lock either 
of us up, fortunately, and as we intend to meet, you 
may be sure that we shall find ways of meeting. Surely 
you must see that you will not be able to carry out your 
threat.” 


Marcia. 


205 


Sir George smiled, raised his eyebrows, and observed 
that he would at any rate do his best to carry it out. 

He was so provoking, he looked so politely contemp- 
tuous, and he had so very little right to entertain feelings 
of contempt for anybody, that Marcia could not resist 
trying to make him lose his temper. She said : 

“ It is a pity that you are so frightened of your wife. If 
you were left to yourself you would most likely be sensible 
enough to understand that no amount of calumny would 
induce Willie to take up your quarrel with me; but you 
are under the thumb of Caroline, who has always envied and 
hated me, and who, I suppose, thinks that she has now hit 
upon a fine opportunity for paying off old scores. Well, if 
you live long enough, you will be able to judge what her 
scheme is worth.” 

Sir George rose as satisfactorily as could have been 
wished. Clouds gathered upon his brow, his cheeks grew 
red, and it was in a voice trembling with suppressed wrath 
that he answered : “ You little know me, Mrs. Archdale, 
if you imagine that my actions are liable to be influenced 
either by feminine jealousies or by feminine impertinence. 
Your assertion that my wife is envious of you may or may 
not be true — I have never had the curiosity to make in- 
quiries on that point — but, since plain language appears to 
please you, I need not scruple to say that my decision as 
regards Willie and yourself has been arrived at solely in 
consequence of the view which I personally take of your 
character and conduct. I think, and I always shall think, 
that you were guilty of poor Eustace’s death ; I think that, 
during his lifetime, you behaved with very little regard to 
decency, and that you disregarded decency altogether by 
contracting a second marriage before he was cold in his 
grave. It will be obvious to you that, holding such an 
opinion, I cannot conscientiously sanction any association 
between you and my ward. I have nothing more to add,” 
concluded Sir George, moving towards the door as though 
he intended holding it open for his visitor. 

Marcia might have made a dignified exit ; but, although 
she had roused Sir George’s temper, she had not contrived 
to keep her own. “ You are very insulting and very cow- 
ardly ! ” she exclaimed. “No man would say such things, 
and I know quite well that you are merely making yourself 
Caroline’s echo ; still it is bad enough to pretend to believe 


2o6 


MARCIA, 


what is false, and 1 hope I shall never be obliged to see 
you or speak to you again.” 

“ Madam,” answered Sir George, as he opened the door, 
“ I may safely promise you that, with my consent, you 
never will.” 

It must be admitted that he had had the best of the en- 
counter, although Marcia secured the empty triumph of 
the last word. “ You and Caroline may do your worst,” 
said she ; “ but you will never prevent Willie from caring 
for me, and you will never make him care for you.” 


CHAPTER XXVL 

MARCIA’S CHOICE. 

Self-esteem is said to be the most vulnerable spot in any 
man’s moral anatomy. This may be the case — women 
declare that it is the case, and they ought to know — but 
perhaps a humble student of human nature may be per- 
mitted to observe that, so far as his experience has gone, 
vanity is the special failing of the under-bred. However 
that may be, Sir George Brett, whose pedigree would 
hardly have borne close examination, was unquestionably 
vain, and if his sister-in-law had desired to make an eternal 
enemy of him she could hardly have done better than to 
accuse him of being under petticoat government. As a 
matter of fact, he never forgot that insult and never for- 
gave it. He had not thought too highly of Marcia before 
the interview described in the last chapter ; after it, he 
was ready to believe her capable of any and every crime. 
And so it seemed to be his bounden duty to loose no time 
in taking those measures of which he had spoken to her. 

“ Caroline,” he said to his wife, that same evening, in 
an authoritative tone of voice, I shall be glad if you will 
go down to Blaydon to-morrow and take the boy with you. 
I daresay you will have heard that his mother made her 
way into the house this afternoon ; Benson tells me that 
she pushed past him, although he did his best to turn her 
away from the door. Probably she will not attempt to do 
that a second time ; but she was extremely insolent in her 
manner to me, asserting that she would contrive to meet 


MARCIA. 


207 


her son with or without my permission, and as she un- 
doubtedly has it in her power to cause us some annoyance, 
I think the wisest plan will be to place Willie out of her 
reach until he returns to Eton.” 

Lady Brett was disinclined to fly from the face of an 
enemy with whom she would have been very pleased to 
risk a personal encounter; but she recognized the diffi- 
culty of preventing two wilful people from having their 
way, and it was a consolation to her to reflect that Marcia 
could be checkmated with so little trouble. So she duti- 
fully signified her readiness to do what was required of 
her, and on the following morning she and her nephew left 
London. 

“ My dear Willie,” was her reply to certain remon- 
strances which the latter made so bold as to utter, “^ou 
know — or at any rate you ought to know — that we must 
not question the orders of those whom Providence has set 
in authority over us. Your uncle wishes us to go down to 
the country. That is enough for me, and it should be 
enough for you. Some day, if you live long enough, it 
will be your turn to exercise authority ; meanwhile you 
must do as I do and obey.” 

It was quite certain that he could do nothing else ; and 
as he was of a patient disposition, he might have resigned 
himself to wait until he should be master of his own 
actions, had he been able to write a few lines of explana- 
tion to his mother. Unfortunately, she had omitted to in- 
form him of her address ; and so it was that both he and 
she passed through a brief period of miserable suspense. 

For a whole week Marcia haunted the neighborhood of 
Portman Square. She was there at all hours of the day, 
but never a glimpse did she obtain of what she was seek- 
ing for, and at length she wrote to Willie, begging him to 
name a time and place at which they might meet. “ I 
daresay those wretches open his letters,” she thought ; 
“ but I must take my chance of that.” 

In this she wronged Sir George, who saw the letter and 
recognized the handwriting, but forwarded it to Blaydon 
intact, and by return of post she received a reply from 
Willie which brought tears of joy into her eyes. The boy 
could not have written more reasonably and sensibly if he 
had been three times his age. He had spoken to his aunt, 
he said, and had told her that he would make no promise 


2o8 


MARCIA. 


of unconditional obedience. He meant to take every 
opportunity of seeing his mother, and it would be for his 
guardians to prevent him from doing so if they could. For 
the present they evidently could do so. However, he had 
not been forbidden to write or receive letters, nor had he 
been scolded for his contumacy. “ Aunt Caroline says I 
am deluded, but she can't blame me. I say she is another, 
and then she laughs. She really isn’t such a bad old 
creature if you take her the right way.” 

Probably this is true of ninety-nine people out of a 
hundred, but it is only one person out of a hundred who 
knows how to take everybody in the right way, and if 
Willie was such an exceptional human being, Marcia cer- 
tainly was not. This was what her husband told her when 
he^ returned from his visit to the North, and when she 
made confession to him of her proceedings. 

“ I don’t wish to say anything rude, Marcia,” he re- 
marked, after listening to her narrative, “ but I really 
can’t compliment you on your dexterity. By your own 
account, you have mortally offended a man of whom you 
had a favor to ask, and who, I should think, might have 
been conciliated without much difficulty. Oh, I know 
you began by asking the favor and you met with a refusal. 
Still one doesn’t quite see how you have improved matters 
by putting the old gentleman in an infernal rage. It would 
have been so very much more to the purpose to stroke 
him down.” 

“ You don’t know how exasperating he was ! ” exclaimed 
Marcia. “ But I am glad,” she added, smiling, “that you 
are on my side, Cecil ; I was afraid you would say that I 
ought not to have attempted to see Willie at all.” 

“ Am 1 on your side ? ” asked Archdale, with a laugh. 
“ I don’t think I am, you know. I should certainly have 
recommended you to keep upon good terms with the boy’s 
guardian ; but more than that I should hardly have been 
prepared to advise. You see if you were to put the old 
man’s back up, it would be open to him to resign his guar- 
dianship — which would be awkward.” 

“ I really shouldn’t so very much care,” Marcia declared. 
“ Willie would risk losing a fortune, of course ; but money 
isn’t everythjlng. Anyhow, we have made up our minds 
that we will not consent to be permanently parted, what- 
ever George Brett may do or say.” 


MARCIA. 


2og 


Archdale made a slight grimace, but did not pursue the 
subject further. He had no intention of undertaking the 
maintenance and education of his step-son if he could help 
it ; still he knew enough of women to know that it is a 
piece of gratuitous folly to remonstrate with them when 
they have made up their minds or think that they have 
done so. He, therefore, began to talk about Wetherby, 
where it seemed that he had been well received, and he 
was glad to be able to announce that Lady Wetherby had 
sent her love to her old friend. He attached no slight 
importance to this message ; for the truth was that he did 
not at all want his wife to be ignored during the coming 
season, and he had had certain misgivings which he was 
aware that Marcia had shared. Now Lady Wetherby 
was a tower of strength. Rich, highly placed and emi- 
nently respectable, she was just one of those persons 
whose lead is sure to be followed in doubtful cases, and 
any one who was made welcome at her entertainments 
might safely be regarded as above all suspicion. And 
Marcia, though she affected indifference, was secretly 
pleased to hear that Laura Wetherby was not going to 
drop her ; so that the evening passed away pleasantly 
enough with anticipations of future social enjoyments and 
a judicious avoidance of topics upon which there was 
room for difference of opinion. 

Archdale, however, was by no means oblivious of a 
danger which seemed to him to call for prompt measures 
of precaution, and instead of betaking himself to his studio 
on the following morning, he drove straight to Brett’s bank 
in the City, where he sent in his card with a request that 
he might be allowed to see Sir George for a few minutes. 
He was kept waiting some little time — Sir George made it 
a rule to keep people waiting, knowing how salutary the 
effect of such detention is upon the over-bold — but at 
length he was admitted into the presence of the great 
man, who was seated behind a massive writing-table, and 
who looked a good deal more awe-inspiring than the 
general run of Cabinet Ministers. 

Sir George rose and bowed gravely, without extending 
his hand, while Archdale smiled, nodded and took a chair, 
saying, “ How are you. Sir George? ” 

He went on to explain the object of his visit. “ I ought 
to apologize for intruding upon you ; you are very busy, 

14 


210 


MARCIA. 


no doubt. But I will not trespass upon your indulgence 
long, and I really think that a good deal of time and 
trouble will be saved if you and I can come to an under- 
standing about family affairs — as I am sure that we can. 
I need not tell you that I refer to my wife’s unwillingness 
— it is a very natural unwillingness, as you will allow — to 
be cut off from her son. Now, what are you going to do 
about it ? ” 

“ I have already told Mrs. Archdale,” replied Sir George 
stiffly, “ that so long as my nephew remains under my 
charge I shall not permit him to see her. I shall take care 
that he has no opportuni^of doing so, and I confess that 
I fail to see how any di^ission can promote a clearer 
understanding of so simple a matter.” 

“ Well,” said Archdale, with perfect good humor, I 
won’t inquire your reasons for being so uncompromising ; 
very likely if you gave them, they wouldn’t be particularly 
complimentary either to my wife or to myself. Besides, I 
am really to a great extent with you. A division of au- 
thority, or even a division of influence, is, after all, a mis- 
take, and for my own part I should prefer, upon the whole, 
to have nothing more to do with the boy.” 

“ That I can quite believe,” observed Sir George drily. 

Archdale laughed. “ Oh, well, everybody admits that 
step-children are a nuisance ; I cannot imagine any man 
feeling otherwise than grateful to a relative who was 
anxious to adopt his step-son. But what I want to point 
out to you. Sir George, is that the matter isn’t quite such 
a simple one as you call it. Marcia, of course, cannot be 
made to obey you, and I gather that the boy ” 

“ He will have to obey me,’’ interrupted Sir George. 

“ Possibly ; but I don’t see how you are going to enforce 
obedience. You can’t, for instance, prevent his mother 
from writing to him ; you can’t prevent her making ap- 
pointments with him and going down to Eton to keep 
them. That, you may be sure, is precisely what she in- 
tends to do, and I foresee an immense deal of annoyance 
and worry for all of us unless we can hit upon some means 
of deterring her from doing it. Now, my own impression 
is ” 

Sir George interrupted his visitor for the second time. 
“ Excuse me,” said he ; “I do not care to resort to stra- 
tagem. My course is perfectly plain and straightforward. 


MARCIA, 


2II 


I have accepted the trust bequeathed to me by my late 
brother ; I propose to treat Willie in all respects like a 
son of mine, and it is probable — though I do not mention 
this as being anything more than a probability — that he 
will eventually inherit all that I possess. Nevertheless, I 
will not have my decisions questioned or my orders dis- 
obeyed. You tell me that I cannot enforce obedience : 
my reply is that, in the event of my being disobeyed, I 
shall throw down the reins. I shall continue to act as my 
nephew’s trustee ; but I shall cease to be responsible for 
his education, I shall no longer give him a home, and he 
certainly will not receive one penny at my death.” 

This was just what Archdale had wanted Sir George to 
say. He nodded approvingly. “ May I repeat that to 
my wife on your authority?” he asked. 

“ I will put it in writing, if you choose,” replied Sir 
George, who began to perceive what his interlocutor^ was 
driving at, and whose respect for that gentleman was not 
increased by the discovery. “ Please to understand, how- 
ever, that what I have said to you is a mere statement of 
facts, not a threat. If you are desirous of bringing pre^ 
sure to bear upon Mrs. Archdale, and if you think that 
you see your way to doing it, so much the better; but that 
is your affair. Personally, 1 have nothing to say to the 
lady ; she has put it quite out of the question that I should 
hold any further communication, direct or indirect, with 
her.” 

Archdale, having obtained what he wanted, went away 
without being at all abashed by the haughtiness of the 
banker. He saw no reason for being ashamed of himself ; 
what he did see was that he would have to undertake all 
the trouble and expense of bringing up an insubordinate 
youth unless he could induce his wife to consent to a 
renunciation which appeared to be as expedient for her 
sake as for his own, and after dinner, that evening, he 
took occasion to tell her that he was afraid she must give 
up all idea of fighting her brother-in-law. 

“ I went into the City this morning, and had a talk with 
Sir George Brett,” said he ; “I thought the best way was 
to see him and find out how the land lay. Well, he is a 
very pigheaded old person. He took exactly the line that 
I had expected him to take — wouldn’t have anything to 
say to us, wouldn’t accept our acquaintance on any. terms 


212 


MARCIA, 


— and as soon as I suggested that, in spite of all his ana- 
themas, you would probably contrive to see your son when 
you chose, he returned that if his orders were not respected 
he should throw up his guardianship.” 

“Let him!” answered Marcia, intrepidly; ^‘Willie 
won’t perish for want of the privilege of being his ward, I 
suppose. Thank you for having gone to see him, Cecil ; 
it was very kind of you to think of it.” 

“ Oh, not at all ; the experiment was worth trying, 
though I hadn’t much confidence in its success. But 
unluckily it isn’t only his guardianship that he threatened 
to withdraw. He told me in the plainest language that he 
intended at present to make the boy his heir, but that 
unless he could retain absolute control over him he wouldn’t 
leave him a penny.” 

“ Oh, he admits that he hasn’t legal control over him, 
then ? ” 

“ We didn’t touch upon that question. I should imagine 
that the law would give him as much authority as he chose 
to claim ; but it would be very disagreeable for everybody 
to have the case dragged into Court. At all events, the 
law cannot compel him to act as guardian against his will ; 
still less can it dictate to him how he shall dispose of his 
fortune. So that he really has the whip-hand of us, you 
see.” 

“ He would, if we were as fond of money as he is ; but 
perhaps we aren’t. Shall I tell you the whole truth, 
Cecil? I would gladly and thankfully take WilHe away 
from those people to-morrow if I were not afraid of his 
being a burden upon you. That is the only thing that has 
made me hesitate.” 

Archdale raised his eyebrows, looked down at his boots, 
and was silent. Marcia, who understood men pretty well 
and liked them, upon the whole, much better than she 
liked women, was well acquainted with our cardinal defect. 
She was so deeply in love with her Cecil that she had 
cherished some hope of finding him less selfish than the 
rest of his sex ; but now she saw that she must submit to 
disappointment in that respect. 

“ I suppose he would be rather a burden on you,” she 
hazarded timidly. 

“ Oh, not pecuniarily. Your income is sufficient for you 
and for him^ and I have no right to protest against your 


MARCIA. 


213 


using it for his support. But if you ask me whether I 
should enjoy having him in the house as a third person, I 
must tell you honestly that I shouldn’t enjoy it at all. He 
hates me — very naturally, I daresay, but at any rate, he 
does hate me — and, although I hope I have self-command 
enough to steer clear of a breach of the peace, I think I 
can foresee that whenever he is at home I shall be driven 
away from home.” 

The menace was not ill-chosen. Marcia was prepared 
to sacrifice anything rather than her husband’s love, and 
she was fully alive to the danger of forcing husbands to 
seek for amusement away from home. “ I am sure Willie 
doesn’t hate you, Cecil,” she faltered ; “ why should he ? ” 

Archdale shrugged his shoulders. “ My dear child, it 
isn’t in human nature to love one’s step-father. I assure 
you I bear no malice against the boy ; I have no doubt 
that I should feel just as he does if I were in his place. 
Only I don’t think that one house will hold us both 
very comfortably, and I have a strong idea that if you take 
him away from a rich old uncle (who won’t live for ever, 
mind you), a day will come when you will regret it. My 
advice to you is to let Sir George have his way. Still I 
shall not complain if yoif see fit to disregard my advice.” 

“ Do you mean that you wish me to abandon Willie 
altogether ? ” asked Marcia, with trembling lips and tears 
upon her eyelashes. 

That was certainly what he did wish ; but he was reluc- 
tant to say fio outright. “ I think,” said he, “ that you 
will have to do one thing or the other. Sir George, I take 
it, is not quite such a fool as to allow surreptitious meet- 
ings, and apparently he doesn’t mean to press his claims 
if you choose to oppose him. I have told you wliich horn 
of the dilemma I should choose if I were you ; I would 
rather not say any more.” 

The dilemma was, in fact, what she had perceived it to 
be from the first : she must choose between her son and 
her husband ; and that being so, her choice was a fore- 
gone conclusion. She hesitated a long time, as was but 
natural; she tried to persuade herself that she was only 
yielding to a cruel necessity, because Willie’s welfare made 
it a necessity, and in this effort she received such support 
from Cecil as might have been anticipated ; yet it was with 
a very heavy heart that she sat down at last to write to 


214 


MARCIA, 


her boy, and to announce to him the surrender which, she 
said, had been forced upon her by circumstances. 

“ I know yoii will be unhappy about it,” she wrote, 
“ but you will not be as unhappy as I am, and you will 
forget sooner than I shall. My only comfort is in think- 
ing that the greatest service I can do you at present is to 
let you go. Some day you will see this, and some day, I 
hope and pray, you will come back to me.” 


CHAPTER XXVIL 

AT WETHER BY ONCE MORE. 

Marcia had not long to wait for a reply to her letter. She 
shed many tears over it when it came : that she would 
probably have done in any case ; yet she would have been 
better pleased if its tone had been more reproachful and 
resigned. Willie, poor little man ! understood many 
things which boys of his age are not generally supposed to 
understand, but he did not possess quite sufficient insight 
into feminine character to know, wliat his mother expected 
of him in this emergency, and naturally he did not guess 
that it would soothe her feelings to be upbraided. He 
simply acquiesced in her decision ; apparently he did not 
think that anybody was to blame ; he said no more about 
showing a bold front to his uncle, nor did he dispute her 
assertion that the rending asunder of their lives would 
cause more unhappiness to her than to him. If there was 
a certain unwonted formality about his composition, it did 
not, at any rate, breathe a word of complaint, and he 
signed himself “ Ever your loving son, Willie ” — the under- 
lining of the word “ever” being a little significant touch 
which he had deemed it permissible to introduce. 

In truth the boy could hardly have written otherwise. 
What is to be done when your ally concludes conditions 
of peace with the enemy behind your back ? The Crimean 
War, as everybody knows, terminated after a fashion which 
was not entirely satisfactory to one of the Allied Powers ; 
yet that Power had to illuminate its streets and rub its 
hands and try to look as though all were for the best. 
Now, to compare small things with gre^t, it was evident • 


MARCIA, 


215 


that Willie could not carry on this struggle single-handed. 
Had his mother been prepared to support him, he would 
have been ready and willing to fight ; but since she did not 
see fit to do so, he could only bow his head and hold his 
tongue. Her motive for so abruptly deserting a position 
which she had seemed to take up with some show of firmness 
was no secret to him ; he knew just as well as if she told him 
so that she had been conquered by his stepfather, not by 
his uncle ; and knowing that, it was not possible for him 
to reveal to her how grievous was his disappointment. 
His fidelity to her was not shaken ; only he felt, as he had 
every right to feel, that she had been a little unfaithful to 
him. 

But Marcia, whose affections, strong though they were, 
were of an absolutely undiscriminating order, seldom 
attempted to realize the mental attitude of those whom 
she loved. She judged them by their actions — that is to 
say, that she judged them by such actions of theirs as 
affected her personally — and when she had perused the 
reply over which Willie had spent two hours of anxious 
and tearful meditation, she said to herself that he had a 
cold heart. It may be also that her conscience was not 
altogether at ease with regard to him, and that for that 
reason pardon was more painful to her than rebuke. 

The next morning’s post brought her -a letter from 
Caroline which did not serve to allay her soreness of spirit. 
Lady Brett stated that she wrote by her husband’s request, 
and she discharged herself of the task imposed upon her 
with grave politeness, not unmingled with compassion. 
One would never arrive at anything like an accurate com- 
prehension of one’s fellow-creatures if one did not give 
some of them credit for a total lack of sympathetic feeling ; 
so it is perhaps only justice to Lady Brett to assume that 
she had no idea how very galling her compassion must 
needs be to its subject. 

“ George,” said she, “ tells me that, after the way in 
which you have spoken to him, he cannot consent to hold 
either verbal or written intercourse with you again. I am 
truly sorry for this ; but you will not expect me to say 
that I think him in the wrong, and you know how firm he 
is when once he has made up his mind. It would be use- 
less for me — even if I could feel it right or wise — to 
dispute the decision to which he has come, and to whichj 


2I6 


MARCIA, 


as I understand, you have given your consent ; yet I may 
say that I, cannot but regret, for your sake, the necessity 
of such a decision. There is, indeed, much in the events 
of the last year which fills me with sadness when I look 
back upon them ; but I never presume to judge others, 
and I doubt not that all will be overruled for good. 

“ George wishes me to say that, while he will not ab- 
solutely forbid correspondence between you and your son, 
he thinks that you should nor write or receive letters very 
frequently. He suggests that I should let you hear once 
a month of Willie’s heahh and progress with his studies, 
and this I will willingly do if you desire it. It is not, I 
hope, necessary for me to add that we shall spare no pains 
to promote the temporal and spiritual welfare of our 
nephew, who is dear to us for his father’s sake as well as 
his own.” 

Probably most mothers would have been irritated by 
promises of that description ; but some, perhaps, reflecting 
that half a loaf is better than no bread, would have ac- 
cepted Lady Brett’s offer of a monthly report. Marcia 
unhesitatingly declined it. In a curt reply, which she 
dashed off and posted upon the impulse of the moment, 
she declared that nothing was more revolting to her than 
humbug, that she preferred the open enmity of Sir Ge®rge 
Brett to the canting hypocrisy of his wife, and that it 
would give her no satisfaction at all to hear about Willie 
through either of them. Her state of mind, in fact, was 
very much that of a spoilt child who, having been thwarted, 
takes refuge in the time-honored retort of “ I don’t care ! ” 

Marcia was very anxious to persuade both herself and 
those who had wounded her that she didn’t care. She had 
made her choice ; she intended to abide by it, and she 
intended to be happy. Perhaps when they saw her name 
mentioned daily in the columns of the Mornwg Post, and 
discovered that London society was as ready as ever to 
open its arms to her, they would understand that she could 
get on very well without them. But it so fell out that no 
such mortifying discovery was made by the offending 
persons ; for the reporters of the Morning Post Could not 
record Marcia’s presence at entertainments to which she 
had not been invited, nor did society show itself as hospi- 
tably disposed towards Mrs. Arch dale as it had once been 
towards Mrs. Brett. The general feeling was that her 


MARCIA. 


217 


case was really a little bit too scandalous. During the 
previous season she had made herself talked about in 
connection with her present husband ; she had been 
separated — doubtless on that account — from her late one, 
and of course there were plenty of people who knew for 
a fact that she had driven that unfortunate man to despair 
and suicide. Such things may be forgotten in a year or 
two ; but it is pushing audacity rather far to reappear 
instantly in the character of a bride and to expect recogni- 
tion. Consequently, not a few influential ladies found it 
convenient to ignore the circumstance that Mr. Archdale 
was no longer a bachelor, and addressed invitations to his 
club in which no mention was made of his wife. This 
was a cruel blow to Marcia ; yet she could have borne it 
better if her husband had seen fit to decline the invitations. 
But he could not, or would not, see that it was incumbent 
upon him to do anything of the sort. 

“ What,” he asked, “ is the use of taking it for granted 
that our friends wish to snub us The chances are that 
they have never heard of our marriage, and very likely 
they will never hear of it if I don’t tell them. Besides, 
even supposing they do intend to mark their sense of the 
impropriety of our conduct, we shall gain nothing by 
sulking. That sort of thing has to be lived down, and the 
best answer one can possibly make to a slight is to take 
no notice of it.” 

Whatever this reasoning may have been worth, the 
process of acting upon it bore no immediate fruit. Mr. 
Archdale went out almost every night, but Mrs. Archdale 
continued to be neglected ; and that this was not the result 
of mere inadvertence was made manifest to her when she 
encountered former acquaintances in the streets or in the 
Park; for as often as such encounters took place these 
former acquaintances failed to see her. She was unfortunate 
also in losing the moral support of Lady Wetherby, whose 
only daughter had been taken ill with scarlet fever, ami 
who was therefore unable to come up to London as usual. 

The latter circumstance, however, was so far serviceable 
to Marcia that it eventually provided her with a decent 
excuse for escaping from what she was beginning to feel 
an intolerable situation. She was made miserable by her 
husband’s evident capacity for enjoying himself apart from 
her; she was often tormented by jealousy; yet she could 


2i8 


MARCIA. 


not but see the risk of forcing him to spend his evenings 
at home against his will. It was not unnatural that she 
should desire to turn her back upon a mode of life which 
was neither curable nor endurable, and one morning at 
breakfast she joyfully informed her husband that she was 
going down to Wetherby for a week or so. 

“ Laura has consented to let me help her ip amusing . 
poor little Evelyn, who is now convalescent,’! she said. 

“ I had scarlet fever when I was a girl, so tha^ I have no 
fear of infection, and I shall be only too thankful to get 
away from London.” 

At first Archdale would not hear of his wife’s running 
such a risk ; but it was a task of no great difficulty to per- 
suade him that the risk was in reality a very slight one. 

He was still more or less in love ; he was certainly as fond 
of Marcia as he could be of anybody, and he was probably 
sincere when he declared that he would feel wretchedly 
forlorn during her absence. Nevertheless, her determina- 
tion to quit the scene of her fiasco was something of a 
relief to him ; for he knew, although he did not choose to 
admit it, that one of those feminine coalitions had been 
formed against her which are irresistible while they last. 

On the following day, therefore, he took leave of her at 
King’s Cross with so much cheerfulness and resignation 
that she was within an ace of changing her mind and aban- 
doning her journey at the last moment. 

But as soon as she was fairly off she was thankful that 
she had not yielded to so unwise an impulse. She did 
not want him to think her jealous and exacting ; she 
believed in her heart shat she had as yet no cause to be so, 
and she was in hopes that, although her lost prestige could 
not be regained in London, it might to some extent be 
restored to her when people should have had time to see 
that she was still upon terms of intimacy with Lady 
Wetherby. Moreover, she had a hankering after the 
honest and loyal sympathy of Laura, upon which the 
experience of former years led her to count in advance. 

It so happened, however, that her friend was at that 
moment rather in a position to require sympathy than to 
offer it. For the first thing that Lady Wetherby said to 
her on her arrival was, “ My dear Marcia, I am not at all 
sure that I ought to let you into the house. . Evelyn is 
recovering very quickly, but of course she is just in the 


7 


MARCIA. 


2ig 


most infectious stage, and now poor Wetherby has caught 
the fever ; so I shall be obliged to leave you to take care 
of yourself nearly all day, and ou will have a dreadfully 
dull time of it independently of the danger.” 

“ I don’t mind the dullness and I don’t believe in the 
danger,” answered Marcia. “ I am sorry about Lord 
Wetherbv, though. Is he very bad ? ” 

“ No j^he doctor says he is going on as well as possible ; 
but I can^help being a little anxious. It is very good 
and kind ^ you to come to me at such a time.” 

If Marcia’s motives for paying this visit had not, in the 
first instance, been of a purely unselfish order, she began 
at once tolehave as though they had. During the next 
few days she made herself really useful by entertaining the 
convalescent child, and her efforts had at least the happy 
result of renewing a friendship which had been in some 
danger of coming to an end. 

“ I did think you rather heartless, Marcia,” Lady 
Wetherby confessed, when she found time for a quarter of 
an hour’s confidential talk with her former schoolfellow. 
“ Not on account of your having married again so soon, 
for that, after all, was only a breach of conventionality ; 
but I couldn’t understand your consenting to hand your 
boy over to his uncle and aunt.” 

“ Did you imagine that I had any choice in the matter ? ” 
asked Marcia. “ Eustace made Sir George Willie’s 
guardian ; my consent to the arrangement wasn’t requested, 
and my refusal wouldn’t have been listened to. Of course 
it has made me very miserable, and I did manage to see 
Willie once, and then Sir George declared that he would 
throw up his guardianship if such a thing occurred again. 
Perhaps you will say that I ought to have been only too 
glad to take him at his word. But that would have implied 
a great deal. It would have implied depriving Willie of a 
large fortune ; for, as matters stand at present, his uncle 
means to leave him everything. And besides that, it 
would have implied unhappiness and discomfort for my boy 
as well as for my husband. He does not like Cecil and 
Cecil does not like him. They never could have got on 
together. In fact, Cecil told me as much ; he said that if 
Willie were to live with us he should go away as soon as 
the holidays began.” 


220 


MARCIA. 


Lady Wetberby drew in her lips. “ I must say that I 
think that was very selfish of Mr. Archdale,” she re- 
marked. ^ 

“ Yes, perhaps ; but all men are selfish. You see, 
Laura, it just came to this — that I had to please either rny- 
self or my husband. Do you think I was wrong in giving 
my husband the preference ? ” 

Lady Wetherby was decidedly of opinion that Marcia 
had done wrong, and that her way of putting the case was 
rather ingenious than ingenuous ; but it seemed a little 
cruel to say so. Moreover, she could not but believe that 
her friend’s heart must be in the right place, by reason 
of the latter’s kindness to Evelyn. So she was contented 
to reply : 

“ One can’t lay down general rules or judge for other 
people. I don’t think that I myself could have acted as 
you have done ; but I quite see that you were placed in a 
very difficult position.” 

Of that qualified approval Marcia had to make the best ; 
and indeed she was very glad to obtain it, for she was now 
more than ever convinced of the desirability of retaining 
Laura’s friendship. Laura, and nobody else whom she 
knew of, could cause doors which had been shut in her face 
to fly open once more ; Laura, for all her quiet, unpre- 
tending manners, knew how to snub ill-natured and censo- 
rious persons. Finally, Laura alone could claim to know 
at first hand circumstances which had probably been exag- 
gerated or misunderstood by others. 

But a deplorable stroke of fate was to render all the 
friendly offices to which Marcia looked forward impossible 
of execution. Lord Wetherby’s illness, which had been 
running its course quite favorably, became suddenly com- 
plicated by symptoms of an alarming nature ; a great 
London doctor was telegraphed for ; Malton was sum- 
moned home from Eton, and within two days everybody 
in the house knew that the sick man’s sentence of death 
had been pronounced. - During the week which followed. 
Lady Wetherby scarcely left her husband’s bedside, and 
Marcia was occupied in taking charge of the two children 
who were by way of not knowing — although, no doubt, 
they did know — the hopelessness of their father’s condi- 
tion. She naturally took the opportunity to make some 
inquiries about Willie of his schoolfellow j but Malton had 


MA/^CIA, 


221 

not much to tell her. llrcit, lie explained, was neither in 
his division nor in his tutor’s house ; he did see him every 
now and then, and believed that he was getting on all 
right. “ Only I’m a dry-bob, you know, and he’s a wet- 
bob. Somebody told me he could scull a bit ; I don’t 
know whether it is true or not.” 

Asked whether Willie appeared to be in good spirits, he 
answered. Oh, yes, I suppose so,” with a wondering 
sort of laugh, as though he thought the question a some- 
what silly one. 

Silly the question doubtless was, and still more silly was 
it of Marcia to feel aggrieved because her boy showed no 
outward sign of unhappiness. It was. however, necessary 
for her peace of mind that she should believe herself to be 
ill-used ; so that perhaps Malton rendered her a service 
without intending to do so. 

Poor Lord Wetherby sank gradually, and died on the 
sixth day after the medical consultation. He had never 
achieved public distinction of any kind ; but as he had 
been a good husband and a good father, he was more sin- 
cerely lamented than the general run of mankind have a 
right to expect that they will be. His widow and his 
children seemed to be inconsolable ; and when people 
seem to be inconsolable, what better course can a wise and 
kind friend adopt than to leave them alone } This was 
the course which commended itself to Marcia, who was 
not urged to reconsider her decision. 

“ It is good of you to offer to stay with us, dear,” said 
Lady Wetherby, who may have thought that her friend was 
not quite the person to sympathize with the loneliness of 
widowhood. “ But I am sure you won’t mind my telling 
you that we would rather be alone for the present. Later 
on, when I have had time to realize what has happened to 
me, we shall meet again, I hope. Just now I feel as if I 
couldn’t speak to anybody except the children.” 

Nevertheless, the woman was so kind-hearted that in 
spite of her own troubles— or possibly in consequence of 
them — she was able to s])are a thought for those of one 
who was almost a stranger to her. Her last words to her 
departing guest were : 

“ Marcia, I can’t help feeling distressed about poor Wil- 
lie. It is sad enough for Malton and Evelyn to have lost 
their father ; but they are not so badly off as he is because 


222 


MARCIA. 


as long as I live they will always have somebody whom 
they can depend upon when they are ill or unhappy. It 
isn’t possible for any one to fill a mother’s place ; certainly 
uncles and aunts cannot, however rich they may be. And 
I don’t think either that anything can make up to a mother 
for the loss of her son — no ! not even if she resigns him to 
please a husband whom she may imagine that she loves 
better.” 

“ There is no imagination about it,” returned Marcia 
quickly, for these words wounded her as only the truth can 
wound. “ I do love Cecil better than Willie ; if I didn’t 
I never could have married him. I’m not like you ; I 
can’t control my affections ; I can’t say to myself, ‘ This 
is how I ought to feel and this is how I will feel.’ Willie 
will learn to live without me, if he hasn’t learnt already ; but 
I can’t live without Cecil, I can’t even do anything to vex ^ 
him. You may pity me as much as you choose for being 
what I am, but I don’t see how you can fairly blame me j 
because it isn’t in my power to be anything else.” 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

MARCIA THROWS UP THE SPONGE. 

In declaring that it was out of her power to be anything 
except what she was, Marcia was perhaps giving utterance 
to a mere truism. There seems nowadays to be a tolera- 
bly wide-spread belief that our respective natures cannot be 
changed nor even greatly modified, that we are all blessed 
or afflicted with certain hereditary proclivities which are 
not of our choosing, and that although for the protection 
of the community at large it is necessary to maintain gaols 
and convict prisons, very little blame can fairly be laid to the 
charge of their inmates,' whose skulls and features, as any- 
body can see for himself, present nothing but slight varia- 
tions of two distinctive types. The theory of irresponsibility 
would be an exceedingly comforting one — except, of course, 
for the hereditary gaol-birds — if only we were able to be- 
lieve in it ; but unfortunately it is apt to be contradicted 
by the irrepressible voice of conscience, which tclla us that 
we can overcome our natural tendencies if we choose, and 


MARCIA. 


223 


indeed that that may possibly be the chief object of our 
sojourn upon the surface of this planet. Thus, Marcia, 
who had plenty of time for musing over things and per- 
sons during her journey southwards, did not quite succeed 
in persuading herself that the renunciation which Lady 
Wetherby deprecated had been inevitable. She did, how- 
ever, persuade herself that she had displayed very great 
self-abnegation, and that conviction served her purpose 
almost as well. 

“At any rate,” she reflected, “Cecil must see how 
much I have given up for his sake, and perhaps he may 
feel that he ought to give up a little for mine.” By which 
she meant that she hoped he would 'give up frequenting 
houses to which she was not thought worthy of being 
invited. 

In any case, it was useless to lament over accomplished 
facts. For good or for ill she had made her choice and 
must now abide by it ; the main thing, after all, was to be 
happy, and happy she fully intended to be. Her great 
fear — a fear so terrible that she shrank from facing it — 
was that her husband might grow weary of her, and that 
his volatile temperament might lead him to seek for plea- 
sure and amusement elsewhere than by the domestic fire- 
side. That there were solid grounds for that apprehension 
she could not but be aware, not was her instinct at fault 
when it warned her of the dangers which are likely to be in- 
curred when one of two married persons forms the habit 
of going into society without the other. Was not she her- 
self an example of the results which may be expected to 
arise out of such a system ? 

Therefore it struck her as a good omen when, on reach- 
ing her destination, she caught sight of Cecil upon the 
platform. She had not asked him to meet her ; but she 
had let him know the hour at which her train was due, and 
of course he had been informed of the sad event which had 
brought her visit to an end. 

“ This is a bad job about poor old Wetherby, isn’t it? ” 
said he, as soon as they had greeted one another with as 
much tenderness as was possible in that public place. 

“ What is Lady Wetherby going to do ? I suppose there 
will be no change during the boy’s minority, will there ? ” 

“ I really^don’t know,” answered Marcia. “ Laura said 
nothing to me about her plans ; she has hardly had time 


224 


MARCIA, 


to make any yet. I should think she will go on living at 
Wetherby for the present, anyhow.” 

“ H’m ! — and very likely she won’t spend much of her 
time in London. Not that it would make any great differ- 
ence if she did though ; for, of course, she won’t be en- 
entertaining yet awhile.” 

And as Marcia did not seem quite to see the relevance 
of this observation, he explained himself more fully while 
they were driving homewards. “ It’s a selfish view to take, 
I admit,” said he laughingly ; “ but the truth is that poor 
Wetherby’s death is rather a bad stroke of luck fo’r us. I 
had been counting upon her ladyship as a prop for you ; 
because you see, my dear, you do stand a good deal in 
need of a prop just now.” 

“ Why do you say that ? ” asked Marcia quickly. “ Has 
anything disagreeable happened ? ” 

“ Oh, no ; only there are indications that the atmos- 
phere is rather highly charged with prejudice. You your- 
self noticed it before you went away, you know. However, 
as I told you then, it may be lived down, and I hope it will 
be.” 

His tone was not particularly hopeful, nor was Marcia 
reassured by this prompt introduction of a subject which 
occupied so large a share in her own thoughts. She said 
at once that she did not care a pin whether she was cut by 
a lot of tiresome people or not, that she wished to live for 
him and for him alone ; to which declaration he responded 
after the only fashion that was open to him. 

But it very soon appeared that whatever Mr. Archdale’s 
intentions with regard to his future mode of life might be, 
that of abandoning the society of persons who chosfe to turn 
their backs upon his wife was not included amongst them. 
He dined at home that night, but went out immediately 
afterwards, saying that he had to look in at two or three 
houses, and on the following morning casually mentioned 
that for another week to come there would be no need to 
take account of him in ordering dinner. “ I didn’t expect 
you back so soon,” he said, half apologetically, “ and I 
expect most of these people who have asked me to dine 
thought you would be out of town.” 

Marcia did not believe that they had thought anything 
of the kind ; but she contrived by dint of biting her lips 
to repress the complaints which she was sorely tempted 


MARCIA, 


225 


to utter. Whether she would have been able to repress 
them long may be doubted ; but fortunately the next few 
days brought her several invitations, so that she began to 
feel somewhat encouraged. Perhaps the ladies who were 
good enough thus to favor her had heard that she had been 
staying with Lady Wetherby, or perhaps Archdale, who 
was not inordinately proud, had boldly asked them to ask 
his wife. Either way, Marcia was satisfied, hoping that 
she had now introduced the thin end of the wedge, and 
that she would soon be as much sought after as she had 
ever been. 

That hope was not fulfilled. Her hostesses accorded 
her a very chilling reception ; the former acquaintances 
whom she met at their houses contented themselves for 
the most part with bowing to her and passing on, while 
those who did speak to her assumed an air of patronage 
and commiseration which was rather worse than downright 
rudeness. Amongst these was that Mrs. Delamere who, 
it may be remembered, had once caused Eustace Brett to 
spend some unhappy moments at a dinner-party, and who, 
indeed, was usually actuated by an amiable wish to make 
her neighbors unhappy. 

“ I have been asking everybody what had become of 
you, Mrs. Archdale,” she said ; “ but no one could tell 
me. I really began to think that you must be a myth.” 

“ I have been staying down in the country with friends,” 
answered Marcia ; “ 1 only returned home a few days ago.” 

“ Oh, was that it? Well, I thought you couldn’t be in 
London unless your tastes had undergone a complete 
change. As for Mr. Archdale, he has been very much en 
ividence of late — very much indeed.” 

Marcia knew perfectly well that the woman meant to be 
ill-natured, and that the best way of disappointing her would 
be to ask no questions ; but it is not easy to resist asking 
a question to which one is very desirous of obtaining an 
answer. 

“ In what way? ” she inquired. 

“ Principally in that way,” replied Mrs. Delamere, 
laughing and pointing with her fan to Archdale, who was 
waltzing with a pretty little fair-haired woman ; for it was 
at a ball that this conversation took place. 

“ Cecil is a very good dancer, and, like all good dancers, 
he is fond of dancing,” remarked Marcia calmly. 

15 


226 


MARCIA, 


“ Is he really ? Then I wonder why he dances all night 
and every night with Mrs. Dynely, who can’t dance a bit. 
I suppose she must possess some other attraction. She is 
certainly pretty, don’t you think so ? ” 

There was no denying the prettiness of the little fair- 
haired lady. Marcia asked who she was, and received 
some more or less inaccurate information respecting her. 
But in truth it signified little enough whether she was 
good or bad, married or a widow ; what nobody could 
help seeing was that Cecil was making himself very agree- 
able to her, and that she was giving him every encourage- 
ment to do so. Having made that discovery, Marcia 
would doubtless have done well to rest satisfied, or dis- 
satisfied, with it and to change the subject ; but jealousy 
is one of those distressing maladies which always crave a 
further supply of their cause, and Mrs. Delamere was very 
glad to relate how Mr. Archdale and the frisky young 
matron with whom he was dancing had latterly become 
inseparable. 

“ Of course you know what he is, though,” she concluded, 
with a laugh. “ He is delightful, but quite incorrigible, 
and, as I have often told him, it is only his fickleness that is 
the saving of him. I never was more astonished in my 
life than when I heard that he had actually committed 
matrimony.” 

Marcia made one of the retorts to which such observa- 
tions obviously laid the speaker open : but it was not 
particularly effective. Mrs. Delamere, having scored a 
point, was naturally anxious to score another before she 
ceased playing ; so she went on : 

“ By the way, I must congratulate you upon your son’s 
good luck. Lady Brett was telling me the other day that 
they have adopted him — which, I presume, means that he 
will come into all his uncle’s money. It must be rather a 
grief to you to be parted from him ; still one can’t refuse 
offers of that kind, and of course you will always be able 
to see as much of him as you wish.” 

“ If Caroline spoke to you about the matter,” answered 
Marcia, “ she certainly told you that that is just what I 
shall not be able to do. I don’t know whether you care to 
hear the truth or not ; but the truth is that Sir George 
Brett is my son’s sole guardian, and that Sir George and I 
have quarrelled. Under the circumstances, your congra- 


MARCIA. 


227 


tulations sound a little ironical to me, though I have no 
doubt that they are kindly meant.” 

She did not shake off Mrs. Delamere quite as easily as 
she could have done a twelvemonth earlier, because she 
was not now, as she had been then, within reach of a score 
of persons who asked nothing better than to talk to her ; 
still, by walking resolutely away, she managed tc effect her 
escape, and soon afterwards she begged her husband to 
take her home, pleading fatigue and a headache. It was 
allowable, she thought, to make the request, but it would 
be a sad mistake to let him know her reason for having 
made it. She therefore heroically abstained from saying a 
single word about Mrs. Dynely for quite two minutes after 
they had left the house, when temptation got the upper 
hand of her and forced her to remark : 

“ You didn’t seem to be very fortunate in your partners 
to-night, Cecil. At least, every time that I saw you, you 
were struggling round the room with that flaxen-headed 
woman, who moved as if she had two wooden legs.” 

■ “ Do you mean Mrs. Dynely ? ” asked Archdale. 
‘‘ Well, I suppose she isn’t exactly what one would call a 
first-rate performer, but she talks better than she dances. 
All things considered, I don’t complain of her as a partner. 
I have met her pretty often of late, and we have hit it off 
rather well together.” 

“ So I hear,” observed Marcia drily. 

“ You have no objection, I hope ? ” 

“ Oh, no ; there wouldn’t be much use in my objecting, 
would there ? Only don’t you think it is a little soon to 
— to begin that kind of thing? ” 

“ My dear clfild,” exclaimed Archdale in a vexed tone, 
“ this is really too ridiculous. Some good-natured lady has 
been taking away my character, I suppose ; but you might 
have known better than to believe her. I’m sure I don’t 
care if I never set eyes on Mrs. Dynely again ; still, one 
must talk to somebody when one goes to a party, and un- 
fortunately I can’t talk to you the whole time — though 
that is what I should prefer to do.” 

“ I know I am very silly, Cecil,” said Marcia, whose 
tears had begun to flow, in spite of all her efforts to keep 
them back, “ but you would forgive me if you knew what 
a horrid evening I have had. I was sure I should hate 
coming back to London, and it is a thousand times worse 


228 


MARCIA, 


than I ever thought it would be ! Must we go on living 
here ? ” 

Archdale evaded returning any direct answer to this 
question, because he did not wish to make hasty promises 
which might be quoted against him at some future time. 
However, he said a great deal that was kind and pretty 
and comforting to his wife, who had partially recovered her 
spirits before she reached home. 

Nevertheless, her longing to leave London increased as 
time went on ; for the evening which has been described 
proved to be more or less typical of what she might now 
expect. It is true that not all the ladies whom she met 
were as ill-natured or as outspoken as Mrs. Delamere ; but 
they all contrived to let her see that she did not possess 
the privilege of their esteem, and existence without popu- 
larity was almost as intolerable to her as continuous physi- 
cal pain. Not by such social pleasures as were open to 
her under these sadly changed conditions could she hope 
to obtain that happiness and oblivion of which she had 
dreamt. Moreover, there were other reasons which 
caused her to shrink from London as a pl^ce of residence. 
First and foremost, there was the misery of knowing that 
Willie would often be within reach of her, that she might 
even meet him face to face in the street ; then, too, there 
was the question of expense. She and her husband had 
enough to live upon in comfort, but not in luxury, and she 
very soon discovered that with regard to money matters 
Cecil was as reckless and improvident as any schoolboy. 
He was given to hospitality and lavish in the exercise of 
it ; he did not seem to understand the need for fixing the 
limit to weekly expenditure, and he looked incredulous and 
annoyed when he was reminded that his wife’s income was 
not inexhaustible, while his own was somewhat precarious. 

“ Oh, if one can’t live as one’s neighbors live, one may 
as well cut the whole concern,” he said impatiently one 
morning. 

Marcia seized her opportunity. “ I wish you would ! ” 
she exclaimed. Our money would go three or four times 
as far in Italy as it does here, and we could always run 
over to London for a few weeks when you wanted to see 
your friends, and you hate England in winter ; you have 
often told me so,” 


MARCIA. 


229 


Archdale laughed. “ In other words, England has 
become hateful to you at all seasons of the year,” he 
remarked. 

Nevertheless, he was not unwilling to gratify this whim 
of Marcia’s. It was quite true that he detested cold 
weather and grey skies. He likewise detested compulsory 
work, the necessity for economy and the sight of a discon- 
tented face ; so that he felt capable of doing a good-natured 
thing in order to spare himself such discomforts. Marcia’s 
gratitude was as great as her joy when he suggested that 
they should repair to Venice in the autumn, with a view to 
making for themselves a permanent home there. 

“ You are too good to me, Cecil ! ” she cried. “ If only 
I may live out of England, I won’t grumble at having to 
come back for a time every now and then.” 

“ Oh, for the matter of that, I might come without you,” 
answered Archdale cheerfully and perhaps a trifle impru- 
dently ; “ I don’t think I’ll give up my rooms and the 
studio, you know. I suppose I shall be obliged to be in 
London sometimes ; but I wouldn’t for the world drag you 
here against your will.” 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

OLD FRIENDS MEET AGAIN. 

Speaking generally, it may be said that towns which have 
a season should be carefully avoided out of that season, 
save by persons whose natural hilarity is so great that they 
can endure the sight of closed shutters and forsaken streets, 
and can keep up- their spirits amid scenes which have all 
the melancholy of a desert without its grandeur and mys- 
tery. Nobody, for instance, would be in London during 
the month of September, if he could help it, or at Nice in 
July or at Cowes in January. Certain places, however, 
there are which do not lose all their cheerfulness and 
gaiety (perhaps because they have not a superabundance 
to lose), when the quiet time of the year comes round, and 
amongst these Torquay may claim to be counted. Tor- 
quay is, of course, a winter resort. Nobody denies — nor 
would it be worth anybody’s while to deny, in the face of 


230 


MARCIA. 


the statistics which doctors and other learned persons have 
at their fingers’ ends — that during the nine cold months of 
the year 'J'orquay is a little less cold than the rest of 
the United Kingdom ; but what is not so generally 
admitted, because not so generally known, is that this 
favored spot, besides being comparatively warm in winter, 
is decidedly cool in summer. It is in summer that the 
well-to-do residents go away for change of air ; it is in 
summer that many of the innumerable and oddly named 
villas which cover its hills are to be let upon moderate 
terms, and it is in summer that the place acquires a beauty 
and charm which can hardly be said to belong to it when 
the sea is no longer blue and when the leaves have fallen 
from the trees. It is true that, setting scenery and color 
aside, the attractions which this watering-place can offer to 
out-of-the season visitors are for the most part negative j 
yet surely it must be pleasant to weary dwellers in cities 
to find one seaside locality where there are no sands, no 
negro minstrels, no grinding organs, and only a small 
sprinkling of commercial young men in dirty flannel 
trousers. 

It was partly in consequence of the advantages above 
enumerated, and principally in consequence of the annual 
reduction in house-rent which has been mentioned, that a 
certain small villa had been made ready to receive tempo- 
rary tenants one fine August afternoon. The proprietors 
of the villa, in accordance with a common custom, had left 
their servants behind them, and these functionaries were 
awaiting, with the serene impartiality which characterizes 
irremovable persons of all ranks, the advent of employers 
who might possibly be unreasonable enough to be dis- 
satisfied with them, but who could have no power to dismiss 
them. 

Gentleman’s a hartist I understand,” the butler was 
saying to the housemaid. “ I don’t think much of hartists, 
without ’tis hamalyoors. What I mean to say, a man as 
gets his livin’ by paintin’ pictures don’t take rank with the 
harmy or the navy. I’ve told cook to say to ’em as they 
must dine middle o’ the day on Sunday or else ’ave their 
dinner cold. And then I shouldn’t wait upon ’em. On’y 
three in family, I think you said, Mary? ” 

The housemaid nodded. “ And bringing no lady’s maid, 
which sounds as if they was a shabby lot. I did hear tell 


MARCIA. 


231 


as they’d been living abroad for a number of years and 
was bad off. Sometimes the pore ones is more liberal than 
the rich, though.” 

The butler, a man of experience, shook his head. “ Not 
when servants’ wages is included in the rent,” said he des- 
pondently. “ When they goes to stay with their friends 
’tis different, because then they don’t want to be known for 
what they are, you see ; but the moment there’s no call to 
show off a hartist is a mean feller, you may depend.” 

In this particular instance, however, the butler was mis- 
taken. During the twelve years which had elapsed since 
his marriage Cecil Archdale’s nature had not changed, nor 
had he become more careful with regard to money matters, 
although he had now a good deal less money to throw 
away. His outward appearance, too, had scarcely altered 
for the worse as much as that of most men does after they 
have taken leave of youth and entered upon that prolonged 
period of middle age when looks are of small importance. 
As he jumped out of the fly which had brought him and 
his belongings from the station, the expectant servants be- 
held a man who was still- handsome, if a trifle too stout, 
whose hair had not yet begun to turn grey, and whose face 
was not furrowed by care. He might very well have 
passed for being six or seven years younger than he actually 
was. 

The same compliment could not have been conscien- 
tiously paid to his wife. Marcia’s dark tresses had plenty 
of white threads in them ; her eyes had become sunken ; 
her complexion was a thing of the past. She had grown 
old ; the expression of her face, when in repose, showed 
that she had also grown sad ; and as she entered the house, 
followed by her little daughter, a child of eleven, the list- 
lessness of her movements seemed to afford evidence that 
she was out of conceit with a world which had treated her 
neither better nor very much worse than she had deserved. 
She had perhaps been more unhappy in her second marriage 
than in her first ; yet, since she had never admitted this to 
herself, the point must be regarded as doubtful ; for of 
course nobody can really be more unhappy than he is con- 
scious of being. Marcia, at all events, had been conscious 
of much anxiety and distress of mind. Her husband had 
proved himself just the sort of husband that she might 
have expected him to be ; he had been in love with her 


232 


MARCIA, 


for almost a year after their wedding day ; he had retained 
as much affection for her as her jealousy would allow an 
easy-going, good-natured man, who hated scenes, to retain ; 
he had seldom spoken unkindly to her, and had treated 
her, upon the whole, fairly well, although it cannot be 
denied that he had more than once given her reasonable 
excuse for being jealous. He had, however, deteriorated 
during their long sojourn abroad, which had only been 
broken by occasional flying visits to their native land, and 
which to a man of his indolent, sensuous temperament had 
been inevitably harmful. It is quite possible that poverty 
and the bracing rigors of a northern climate might have 
made a-great artist of Cecil Archdale ; but he had lacked 
these incentives to exertion, and was now past the age at 
which fortune and renown are likely to be acquired. In 
the course of a dozen years he had painted some half 
dozen good pictures, and had been well paid for them, and 
had promptly spent the money. He had not been al- 
together forgotten, but he certainly had not increased his 
fame, and he was spoken of as having failed to carry out 
the promise of his youth. The worst of it was that he 
knew this and did not care. What he had come to care a 
great deal for was material comfort, and especially for that 
important part of it which depends upon a good dinner. 

“ I do trust,” he said earnestly to Marcia, who was taking 
Stock of the small drawing-room, “ that these people have 
left us a decent cook. I never heard of anything more 
risky than hiring a house and servants without having seen 
either. Do you think it looks the sort of house in which 
people would live like civilized beings? ” 

Marcia shrugged her shoulders. There is no kitchen- 
maid,” she answered, “ and I should imagine that the 
cook’s wages would be under thirty pounds a year. We 
can’t expect to get a cordofi bleu thrown in for the rent that 
we are paying, and as we can’t possibly afford to give 
more ” 

“ Oh yes, I know,” interrupted Archdale hastily. For 
heaven’s sake, don’t let us talk about economy ; it is bad 
enough to be obliged to practice it ! Torquay may be a 
very nice place for people of slender means to spend the 
summer in ; but I don’t think I should select it if I were 
as rich as Lady Wetherby. I wonder what she does with 
herself here all day long ! ” 


MARCIA. 


233 


“ She sits in the garden and looks at the view, I believe,” 
answered Marcia. “ At least, that is what she told me in 
her letter that she did. I suppose, now that her daughter 
is out, she has more gaiety than she cares about during the 
London season, and is glad enough of a little rest and soli- 
tude when it is over.” 

“ Quite so ; the only difference between me and Lady 
Wetherby is that my daughter is not out, that she wouldr 
not see much of London gaiety if she were, and that, 
although we appear to have a small garden, we haven’t 
any view to speak of. Well, I suppose one will manage to 
pull through somehow. The least that Lady Wetherby 
can do, after bringing us here, is to suggest to tis some 
means of whiling away the lime without yawning our heads 
off.” 

The responsibility which Mr. Archdale thus sought to 
fix upon Lady Wetherby was not quite justified by facts. 
Marcia and her former schoolfellow had not met for 
many years, though they had kept up an intermittent cor- 
respondence, and the latter had scarcely expected a chance 
phrase in one of her letters to be taken literally. “ If you 
really think of coming to England in the summer,” she 
had written, “ and if, as you say, you can’t make up your 
minds what watering-place to patronize, let me recommend 
Torquay. You won’t find much in the way of amusement 
there ; but, by writing to one of the local house-agents, 
you will easily get a comfortable villa at a low rent, and 
you will be within reach of an old friend who would be 
delighted to see you again.” 

Li)on the strength of that encouragement Marcia had 
decided to delight an old friend. Since her second mar- 
riage she had made many new friends, but none who had 
quite filled Laura’s place, and, of course, none so intimately 
acquainted with the story of her life. It was, therefore, 
with anticipations of receiving sympathy as well as condo- 
lence that she betook herself, on the following morning, to 
Malton Lodge, which was the name given by Lady We- 
therby to her prettily situated villa on the summit of the 
Lincombe hill. For indeed she believed that she had every 
right to claim both. 

Nevertheless, she could not help feeling a little chilled 
and a little envious when a butler and two powdered foot- 
men opened the door for her and ushered her into a lux- 


234 


MARCIA, 


uriously furnished drawing-room. It may very well be 
doubted whether the possession of two footmen instead of 
one adds much to anybody’s happiness, or whether the 
floury appearance of these menials’ heads enhances their 
attractiveness very greatly in the eyes of their employers ; 
but such signs and symbols of wealth are full of signifi- 
cance to less fortunate people, and while Marcia, sitting 
beside an open window and gazing across lawns and flower- 
beds and shrubs at the expanse of blue sea beyond, 
awaited her friend, she reflected somewhat bitterly upon 
the unequal hand with which the favors of fortune are dis- 
tributed. It seemed to her that she had started in the race 
of life under conditions at least as favorable as Laura 
Beaumont had done ; as regarded looks, at all events, the 
advantage had certainly been upon her side. Yet, now 
that she had reached middle age, she was anxious, troubled 
and in straitened circumstances, whereas Laura had all 
that the heart of woman could desire. So she sighed and 
repined, as the immense majority of mankind would doubt- 
less do if they had time to be so foolish ; and probably this 
consciousness of having been unfairly treated had some- 
thing to do with the lack of cordiality which she displayed 
when a stout, grey-haired lady rushed into the room and 
embraced her. 

But Lady Wetherby was cordial enough for two. “ My 
dear Marcia,” she exclaimed, “ what a pleasure this is ! I 
made up my mind years and years ago that you would live 
and die in some foreign land and that I should never hear the 
sound of your voice again. You aren’t as much altered as 
I expected you to be ; I should have known you at once if 
I had met you in the street. You wouldn’t have known me 
though — would you now ? ” 

“ Not if I had met you in the street, perhaps,” answered 
Marcia, a little mollified ; but I should have recognized 
your voice at once. And now that I look at you, I can 
see that you are still the same good, kind-hearted old 
Laura as ever. Well I daresay you have had nothing to 
spoil your temper.” 

“ I have been very fortunate and very happy,” Lady 
Wetherby admitted. “ Wetherby has grown up into 
the best of sons, and indeed he has never given me 
any serious anxiety. As for Evelyn, I am sometimes 
told that I have spoilt her, but I can’t see that the 


MARCIA. 


235 


spoiling has done her much harm, and I don’t think it will 
prevent her from securing an excellent husband when the 
time comes. I really haven’t a word to tell you about my- 
self, because everything has gone smoothly with me ; but I 
should like to hear how the world has treated you all this 
time. ” 

Marcia had a good many grievances, and was not averse 
to dilating upon some of them. She did not say that she 
had been made miserable by her husband’s numerous and 
more or less platonic friendships with other women ; but 
she confessed that his idleness and improvidence had em- 
bittered her life. Cecil, it appeared, was of so thoroughly 
artistic a temperament that he had no eyes for the hard 
facts of existence ; he would not, and perhaps could not, 
work unless he was goaded into it by sheer pressure of 
necessity ; he never knew, nor wanted to know, the amount 
of his annual income. “ And so,” sighed Marcia, “ the 
whole burden of manipulating the budget has fallen upon 
me. It hasn’t been an easy task, I can assure you. Some 
men — Cecil is one of them — can’t live without small daily 
luxuries which cost a great deal of money, and I don’t 
think I myself am a particularly good hand at saving. We 
haven’t been specially extravagant ; but somehow or other 
we have always exceeded our income, and then we have 
made some unfortunate speculations, and altogether we 
haven’t prospered. I want Cecil to stay in England now, 
if he will ; it is a great mistake to let oneself drop out of 
sight and out of memory.” 

Lady Wetherby hardly knew what to suggest by way of 
consolation for a state of affairs which certainly did not 
sound promising. “ Why didn’t you bring your little 
daughter with you ? ” she asked. I want so much to see 
her. Is she like you ? ” 

“ No,” answered Marcia, smiling. “ Flossie is more like 
her father than me. She is very pretty, and a dear little 
thing, and I don’t know what I should have done without 
her. And yet — she isn’t what my dear Willie used to be 
to me. I suppose it isn’t possible that anybody could ever 
fill his place.” 

“ And haven’t you seen him all this time ? ” Lady We- 
therby inquired wonderingly. 

Marcia shook her head. “ I haven’t seen him and I 
haven’t heard from him j most likely he has forgotten me. 


236 


MARCIA, 


Every now and then I have had news of him in a round- 
about way through friends ; I know that he is in the army 
now, and that he is well and happy : that ought to satisfy 
me, perhaps. But it doesn’t.” 

“Of course it doesn’t!” exclaimed Lady Wetherby 
warmly ; “ how could it ? I never could understand your 
consenting to part with him, Marcia ; but at any rate the 
reason that you gave me can’t hold good now that he is a 
grown-up man. Sir George Brett must have forgiven you 
long ago.” 

“Well, r don’t know ; if he has, he has never said so. 
But Willie is of age, and I daresay that to some extent he 
can please himself, and I presume that he doesn’t give a 
strict account of all his actions to his uncle. In fact, the 
truth is that his regiment is quartered at Plymouth now, and 
that I have written to beg him to come over here and see 
me. Now you understand why I persuaded Cecil against 
his will to take a villa at Torquay for the summer.” 

Lady Wetherby laughed good-humoredly. 

“ Well,” she answered, “ I did flatter myself that my 
being here was the sole inducement ; but I am very glad 
indeed that it wasn’t, and I hope you will soon have the 
joy of seeing your son again, and finding him all that you 
could wish him to be.” 

“ I hope so,” said Marcia in a somewhat despondent 
tone. “ It will be a joy to see him whatever he may be ; 
but one thing is certain — he won’t be the Willie whom I 
lost. Did you ever go back to a place where you had 
once been very happy ? If you have, you must have re- 
gretted your folly in having robbed yourself of a host of 
pleasant memories. I am not at all sure that I am wise in 
trying to bring about this meeting.” 

To Lady Wetherby, who was a good, motherly, unimagin- 
ative sort of woman, the selfishness implied in such a 
point of view was barely comprehensible. She herself 
loved her children because they were her children, and 
because it was natural to do so ; it would never have 
occurred to her to wonder whether she had loved them 
better at this or at that period of their lives, or to regard 
them as ministering more or less to her personal gratifica- 
tion. She was about to express something of the bewilder- 
ment which her friend’s words occasioned her when she 
was interrupted by the entrance of a tall, slim girl who 
stepped through the open window from the garden. 


MARCIA, 


237 


This was Lady Evelyn Foljambe, a young lady who, 
without being beautiful or even remarkably pretty, had 
nevertheless been more admired than many of her con- 
temporaries who had a fair title to be considered one or 
the other. Her success may have been in some measure 
due to the redness of her lips, the whiteness of her teeth, 
and a dimple which she had in her left cheek ; the upper 
part of her head, too, was well shaped, her greyish-blue 
eyes did not lack expression, and her hair, of a bronze tinge, 
grew prettily. But it is more probable that the charm 
which young men discovered in her had very little to do 
with her outward appearance. She glanced for a moment 
at the stranger, and then, in an interrogative way, at her 
mother, who said : 

“ Evelyn, dear, you remember Mrs. Archdale, who was 
so kind to you when you were recovering from the scarlet 
fever ? ” 

“ Quite well,” answered Evelyn, smiling and extending 
her hand. “ For a long time after that I used to ask period- 
ically what had become of Mrs. Archdale, but as nobody 
could tell me, I gave up asking at last in despair.” 

She sat down beside Marcia and was very talkative and 
pleasant. Perhaps a shade too completely at her ease to 
give satisfaction to a woman of twice her age. Whether 
for that reason, or for some other which it would have been 
difficult to specify, Marcia did not take to her, and it soon 
appeared that she, on her side, had not taken to Marcia ; 
for no sooner had the latter departed than she wrinkled 
up her nose in an expressive manner at her mother, with- 
out speaking. 

My dear,” protested Lady Wetherby, who understood 
what this meant, “ Marcia Archdale is one of my oldest 
and best friends.” 

“ Yes, mother ; but she isn’t one of mine,” returned this 
impertinent young woman ; “ so I can form a perfectly im- 
partial opinion of her. I won’t distress you by announcing 
it, though. Is she going to stay here long?” 

“ For the rest of the summer I should think,” answered 
Lady Wetherby. “ From what she told me, I imagine that 
it is an object with them to live economically ; and then 
she wishes to be near her son, who is quartered at Ply- 
mouth with his regiment, and whom she hasn’t seen since 
he was a little boy. I must have told you her story, poor 


238 


MARCIA. 


thing !— how she had to give the boy up to his uncle, Sir 
George Brett, and how she was forbidden to meet him.” 

Lady Evelyn nodded. “And now the boy has turned 
into a man and a soldier, and I suppose he will come over 
here to renew acquaintance with his mother. That may 
be rather interesting. If he is at all nice he will help to 
relieve the monotony of this out-of-the-way place a little.” 

“ One can’t call a place that is within six hours of Lon- 
don out-of-the-way,” remonstrated Lady Wetherby, who 
had never been able to imbue her daughter with any liking 
for Torquay as a residence. 

“ That depends,” rejoined Lady Evelyn. “ Six hours 
north of London is in the way. If one lived in the Mid- 
lands or even at Wetherby, one’s friends would perch with 
one for a night or two on their flight to or from Scotland ; 
but as nobody goes to the Land’s End, nobody ever comes 
here.” 

“ Yachting people do,” Lady Wetherby observed. “Mr. 
Mortimer, for instance, said he would make a point of put- 
ting into Torquay in the autumn.” 

“ Well, of course that is a great treat to look forward to ; 
but in the meantime it wouldn’t be disagreeable to have a 
chance of exchanging ideas with some other fellow-mortal. 
So, as I said before, I trust Mrs. Archdale’s son may turn 
out to be nicer than Mrs. Archdale.” 

“ H.e was a very nice boy,” remarked Lady Wetherby 
musingly. “ Poor little fellow ! I meant to keep an eye 
upon him, and have him to stay with us in the holidays 
sometimes, and try to be kind to him ; but I lost sight of 
him somehow or other — as one does.” 

“ We will make up for lost time by being kind to him 
now, if he seems to deserve it,” Lady Evelyn declared. 
“ Was he good-looking when he was a boy ? ” 

But it now occurred to Lady Wetherby that enough had 
been said about this unimportant young gentleman ; so she 
answered rather shortly: “Oh, no; quite ordinary. If 
anything, I should say that he promised to grow up a plain 
man. Besides, it is not likely that we shall see much of 
him if he does come here.” 


MARCIA^ 


239 


CHAPTER XXX. 

WILLIE AS A MAN. 

Lady Wetherby’s recollection of Willie Brett may have 
been, and probably was, rather indistinct. It has already 
been said that he was not a particularly handsome boy ; 
yet if, on the day following that of her mention of him to 
her daughter she could have been transported to the Ply- 
mouth barracks, and could have seen a certain young officer, 
as he reclined in a camp-chair, clad in the becoming un- 
dress uniform of the British line, she would doubtless have 
admitted that he was not a plain man, though she might 
have held to her opinion that he was ordinary. For 
indeed there is nothing extraordinary in broad shoulders 
or in a spare, well-knit, sinewy frame, or even in one of 
those waxy complexions which go with black hair and eyes, 
and of which the pallor is in no way inconsistent with per^ 
feet health. Yet these things, taken in conjunction with 
a kindly expression of countenance, and with that general 
air of being a gentleman which cannot be defined in words, 
make up a whole quite pleasing enough to meet the re- 
quirements of any member of the male sex; nor in truth 
would the young officer in question have lacked sincere 
admirers among the young ladies of Plymouth if his tastes 
had inclined him towards flirtation. 

But he was not at all given that way, being modest and 
a trifle bashful in the society of women, of whose general 
qualities he entertained, for some reason or other, no 
exalted opinion. Life for him meant, in the way of work, 
soldiering, and in the way of relaxation, hunting and read- 
ing. At all of these pursuits he was, if not first-rate, 
decidedly above mediocrity ; he found them sufficient to 
occupy his time and keep him out of mischief, and he did 
not care to seek the attractions which most garrison towns 
have to offer. Amongst his brother officers he passed for 
a thoroughly good fellow, though a ^quiet one, and as he 


240 


MARCIA, 


was reputed to be very weU off, and never seemed to be 
troubled with cares of any kind, it is probable that one and 
all of them would cheerfully have changed places with 
him. 

Now, however, he was for once looking a little troubled. 
He had been reading a letter which lay open upon his 
knees, and of which the contents had been such as to cause 
him some anxious thoughts. It was only natural that he 
should have learnt to regard his mother, who for twelve 
years had never communicated with him either by pen or 
by word of mouth, as virtually dead. He had not forgot- 
ten her, nor had his affection for the motlier whom he had 
known diminished ; but he had long before this taken it 
for granted that she must have forgotten him, and he had 
given up all idea, of attempting to recall himself to her 
remembrance. His uncle and aunt had spoken of her 
before him every now and again. They had heard that 
she and her good-for-nothing artist were living far beyond 
their means in Venice. They had heard (although this 
did not happen to be true) that she treated her second 
husband with as much indifference as she had treated 
her first, and rumors which were not altogether without 
foundation had reached them to the effect that Mr. Arch- 
dale was a good deal less exemplary in a marital capacity 
than poor Eustace Brett had been. All these things they 
had judged it wise to mention in the young fellow’s pre- 
sence, so that he might see how much he had to be thank- 
ful for, and from what a deplorable fate he had been saved. 
They did not produce precisely that effect upon him ; but 
some effect they did produce, for they made him less 
anxious to renew acquaintance with Mrs. Archdale, and 
more disposed to think of her only as what she had been 
when she had borne his own name. On his coming of age 
Sir George had thought fit to give him a word of warning. 

“ You are now practically your own master, Willie,” he 
had said. “ You are no longer a boy, and as you have a 
man’s responsibilities you may claim a man’s liberty. 
Nevertheless, I am entitled to tell you what my wishes are 
upon certain points, and one of these is that you should 
keep yourself entirely clear of the Archdales. They have 
become disreputable ; they have become impecunious, and 
it is not difficult to foresee that some day or other they 
will apply to you for pecuniary assistance. When that 


MARCIA. 


241 


event takes place I shall expect you to inform me of it, 
that’s all. In my view your mother has no sort of claim 
upon you ; but that may not be your view, and I have 
good reason to know that you cling to your views with con- 
siderable obstinacy. I don’t forbid you to meet her when 
she asks you to do so, as she undoubtedly will ; I only re- 
quest that there may be nothing clandestine about the 
meeting, and that you will bear in mind my wish that you 
should see as little of her and her husband as possible.” 

Willie had made the required promise without hesitation. 
It had never been his custom to do anything after a clan- 
destine fashion, nor had he ever given any undertaking 
that he would refuse to meet his mother should she 
express a desire for him to do so. It was therefore no fear 
of arousing his uncle’s displeasure that drew horizontal 
wrinkles upon his smooth forehead when Marcia’s unex- 
pected summons reached him. What troubled him was an 
emotion somewhat akin to that which his mother had 
expressed to Lady Wetherby, and which had so puzzled 
that excellent woman. He wanted to preserve, if he 
could, certain memories of his childhood which were dear 
to him ; he did not much want to be embraced by a 
stranger, the sight of whom must necessarily cause those 
memories to become indistinct, and he could not help 
feeling that the proposed interview would probably bring 
about disappointment for both parties to it. For, after all, 
there was no getting over the fact that his mother had left 
him to his own devices during twelve long years, and per- 
haps the somewhat exaggerated language of affection 
which Marcia had employed in her letter served rather to 
increase than to diminish his sense of distance from her. 
It was not easy to believe in the sincerity of such language. 
He would have preferred a more frank recognition of the 
truth, an honest admission that she had chosen to devote 
her life to her husband rather than to her son, but that she 
now felt eager — as she very naturally might — to see with 
her own eyes what sort of a man the latter had grown up 
into, and to hear with her own ears that he had not lost all 
recollection of bygone happy days. To an appeal of that 
nature he could have responded with all his heart ; but he 
did not feel quite equal to meeting the demand made upon 
him for a renewal of the old tie upon the old terms. He 
had, in short, the habit of looking things in the face, and 


242 


MARCTA, 


when he was asked to ignore the obvious — a request with 
which most women and not a few men can comply readily 
enough — h^had no answer to make, except that it was out 
of his po^er to do so. 

It wasT'however, within his power to obtain a few days’ 
leave from his colonel, and evidently that was the only 
course open to him. As soon as he had made sure of 
being able to visit Torquay, he answered his mother’s 
letter, telling her when she might expect him. His com- 
position, which had necessitated the tearing up of several 
sheets of paper, did not satisfy him, for he perceived that, 
in .spite of all his efforts, it had a cold and slightly dis- 
trustful ring ; but he was too poor a hand at self-deception 
to be capable of deceiving others, so he had to let it go, 
such as it was. Perhaps, he thought, she might under- 
stand what his feelings were, and might make excuses for 
him which it vvas out of the question that he should put 
forward on his own account. 

The letter which he despatched by the same post to 
Sir George Brett did not give him nearly so much trouble. 
In this he merely mentioned that his mother had begged 
him to go over to Torquay, where she was staying, and 
that he intended to spend a day or two with her shortly. 
“ I don’t think she will ask me for a loan,” he added, 
smiling as he wrote down the words — for his uncle’s firm 
conviction that what every body chiefly desired in this 
world was to get hold of money had always seemed to him 
a little comical — “ but I daresay she will ask me to go and 
see her again, unless Mr. Archdale objects, and I suppose 
you will not mind very much if I do.” 

Now, it was by no means unlikely that Sir George would 
mind a good deal ; but his. nephew, who was fully aware 
of this probability, was not in the least disturbed by it. 
Willie Brett had not only managed to preserve his indepen- 
dence, but had successfully asserted it more than once. 
He could not but acknowledge that he owed a great deal 
to his uncle, only he did not consider, and never had 
considered, that he owed him implicit obedience in all 
things. 

So it was not at all of the prejudices and animosities of 
Sir George that he was thinking as, a few days after this, 
he sat pensively in the fly which was taking him from the 
Torquay station to his mother’s temporary abode. What 


MARCIA. 


24T 


made him feel nervous and anxious was uncertainty as to 
how much would be expected of him in the meeting which 
was at hand, and fear lest he should fall short of reasonable 
expectation. He could not yet tell whether or not he was 
going to see once more the same mother whom he had 
once loved so dearly ; but he suspected that all these years 
must have altered her greatly, and he knew that they had 
altered him, and he was painfully conscious of his inability 
to conceal his impressions. 

Happily, however, it so fell out that he was not called 
upon to feign anything that he did not feel ; for no sooner 
had he reached his destination than the front door was 
flung open and a lady rushed out to meet him who gave 
him no time to notice her grey hairs or the lines upon her 
cheeks. He felt her warm kisses upon his own and the 
trembling pressure of her arms round his neck, and it was 
the old familiar voice, broken by sobs, that whispered in ^ 
his ear, “ Oh, my own dear boy, how glad — how glad I 
am ! ” 

Well, after that, there was no difflculty as to demeanor 
nor any need for pretence. The young fellow’s heart — 
which, indeed, was a soft one — was deeply stirred ; he 
forgot all his doubts and grievances, and when she had led 
him into the drawing-room, and had made him sit down 
upon a sofa beside her, he was able to say with perfect 
truth that she could not be more glad to look upon his 
face again than he was to look upon hers. And if closer 
inspection gave him something of a shock (for of course 
twelve more or less troublesome years must needs leave 
ineffaceable traces upon the countenance of a woman who 
has left the prime of life far behind her), yet her voice and 
her quick impulsive manner remained what they had been, 
and he laughed when she held him at arm’s length, just as 
she had been wont to do of old, scrutinizing him from 
head to foot with fond, proud eyes. 

“ I am not much to look at, am I ? ” said he. 

“ Not much ? — that depends upon what you call much. 
There must be two yards of you at the very least. I always 
knew you v. ould be a tall man. And I’m sure I don’t know 
whether you are good-looking or not ; but I know if I were 
a girl, instead of being your mother, I should fall over 
head and ears in love with you at once. Do they generally 
fall in love with you ? But of course they do.” 


244 


MARCIA. 


“ Oh, no, I don’t think so,” answered Willie, laughing and 
blushing a little. “ At least, if they do they have kept it 
very dark so far. I don’t go much into ladies’ society ; 
there are plenty of other fellows in the regiment who go 
in for that sort of thing, and do it better than I should.” 

“ Yes, I daresay; I can quite imagine them. Appalling 
beings with waxed moustaches and loud clothes who are 
mistaken for men of fashion by garrison belles. What 
made you join a line regiment, Willie? I should have 
thought you would have gone into the Guards or at least 
into the cavalry.” 

“ So Uncle George said,” remarked the young man, 
smiling good-humoredly ; “ he seemed to think that the 
Royal Devonshire Rifles wasn’t nearly good enough for 
the nephew of a banker, though most people would tell 
you that it isn’t a bad regiment. At all events, I can live 
quite comfortably upon my income in it, and I doubt 
whether I could have done that in the Guards or the 
cavalry.” 

“ But he makes you some allowance over and above 
what you have of your own I presume,” said Marcia. 

“ No ; he offered to do so, and I am sure he would have 
been very glad if I had accepted his offer; but I didn’t 
see my way to it. It is best to be your own master if you 
can, I think, particularly when you have insisted upon 
taking your own way. Uncle George was dead against my 
being a soldier at all ; he wanted me to go into the bank. 
But I couldn’t do that; so, after a great many rows and 
discussions, he gave way.” 

“ Stupid old man ! ” exclaimed Marcia. “ As if he 
hadn’t grubbed up money enough to keep you and all your 
children and grandchildren in luxury ! He is just the same 
as ever, I sup})ose.” 

“ I don’t think he has changed very much,” answered 
Willie. “ He has grown older, of course, and he has 
attacks of gout pretty often. Aunt Caroline is quite an 
invalid now.” 

“ That can’t be called a change, for she never was any- 
thing else, by her own account. I daresay she will live to 
be a hundred, all the same. I needn’t ask whether she is 
still the consummate hypocrite that she used to be.” 

This not being a question, Willie made no reply. His 
aunt was certainly rather hypocritical, but there had been 


MARCIA, 


245 


no hypocrisy about her kindness to him, and he did not feel 
inclined to dwell upon her failings. To effect a change of 
subject, he presently began to relate his not very eventful, 
experiences as an officer in the British army, and was some- 
what surprised to find how little interest his mother 
displayed in them. 

“ Ah, well,” she interrupted him by saying, “ the past is 
over and done with, and it isn’t always pleasant to think of 
it. The best way is to make the most of the present, 
which still belongs to us.” 

Nevertheless, she could not resist narrating some of her 
sorrows to him, and hinting at some of her disillusions. 
Willie had not very much to say in reply ; but he looked 
as sympathetic as he could, and put in a murmur of com- 
miseration here and there, so that she was not dissatisfied 
with him. About Mr. Archdale it was not possible for 
him to speak much, for he well remembered how he had 
disliked the man, and he could not say anything which 
might sound like “ I told you so.” But he was able, with 
unaffected interest, to make inquiries as to his little half- 
sister, whom Marcia presently summoned by ringing the 
bell. 

“ Flossie is a dear child and very pretty,” said she. 

“ She isn’t a bit like you, though.” 

In truth Marcia had never felt half the love for her 
daughter that she had felt for her first-born, and had never 
made a friend and companion of her, as she had made of 
him. After the necessary delay required for the donning of 
her best frock and sash, Flossie appeared — a demure little 
golden-haired, blue-eyed maiden, who certainly bore no 
outward resemblance to Willie. However, she was very 
soon upon the best of terms with the latter; for he 
belonged to that species of human beings in whom children 
and dogs place immediate confidence, and her presence 
relieved a certain embarrassment and restraint of which 
both he and his mother were beginning to be conscious. 
Willie had taken the child upon his knee, and was listening 
gravely to a description of her dolls and their respective 
characteristics, when Archdale came in. 

“ Well, Brett,” said that gentleman, holding out his hand, 
with a smile which was doubless meant to be amiable, but 
which was somehow a little offensive to his stepson, “ so 
you have found us out at last. Very glad to see you again. 


246 


MARCIA. 


\ 

If I remember rightly, we weren’t exactly friends in old 
days ; but that is no reason why we shouldn’t be friends 
now. The times have changed, and we have changed with 
them, in accordance with the latin grammar and the im- 
mutable laws which govern the world.” 

Willie said something civil, and thought to himself that 
if Mr. Archdale had changed with the times he had not 
changed for the better. But then, to be sure, a gentleman, 
like a poet, is born, not made, and the bad taste of his 
stepfather’s speech was probably the result of a law of 
nature quite as immutable as any other. At all events, he 
had no more reason or wish to quarrel with the man than 
to become his friend. They would be able to tolerate 
one another for a few days, which was all that would be 
required of either of them. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

' LADY EVELYN. 

Liberty, as all English-speaking people are convinced, is 
an invaluable boon, and no doubt the possession thereof, 
whether politically or socially, does give room for the ex- 
pansion of individual as well as national character, and is, 
upon the whole, favorable to the growth of virtues rather 
than of vices. At the same time, a little discipline is .no 
bad thing, as a corrective and a reminder that freedom 
does not mean the right to be a nuisance to your neigh- 
bors. The boys of the rising generation probably get as 
much of it, or nearly as much, as is required at school ; but 
it seems open to question whether the girls of the rising 
generation get quite enough of it at home. Lady Evelyn 
Foljambe, for example, had been indulged to an extent 
which was j)erhaps scarcely prudent, and which so sensible 
a woman as her mother would never have dreamt of per- 
mitting in the early years of the present century. But 
Lady Wetherby belonged, like the rest of us, to her period, 
and thought, as other sensible people appear to think, that 
education is a process which can be successfully carried 
through without recourse to restraints or punishments. 


MARCIA. 


247 


“You cannot,” the fathers and mothers of the present day 
say in effect, “ coerce anyl^ody into being wise or honest 
or sober or pious : what you can do for your children is to 
set them an example of decent behavior, and to let them 
see, as far as may be possible, what is gained by self-denial 
and loss of self-seeking. When all is said and done, the 
choice must rest with them.” It is pretty enough as a 
theory, but in practice it is very much like asking an un- 
fledged bird to fly. 

Evelyn Foljambe, who might now be considered full- 
fledged, since she had been presented and had passed 
through more than one London season, was not a very 
bad specimen of the modern young lady. She was very 
independent, rather self-willed and somewhat too self-con- 
fident ; she knew more than one would wish — if one had 
any choice in the matter — that one’s daughter should 
know ; but perhaps she did not know a great deal more 
than the general run of her contemporaries, and as she had 
inherited a refined temperament, as well as some noble 
and generous qualities, the chances seemed to be that she 
would get into no serious mischief. Meanwhile, she had the 
reputation of being a flirt — which reputation, it must be 
confessed, she had done something to earn. For the rest, 
she was very fond of her mother, for whose convenience 
she often cheerfully sacrificed her own ; otherwise she 
assuredly would not have spent, on an average, six months 
out of a year in a Torquay villa. 

One sunny morning she had slung her hammock in a 
shady part of the garden belonging to that villa and was 
reclining therein, with her hands clasped behind her head. 
She had brought out a novel with her ; but it had dropped 
out of her hand on to the grass, and it was not interesting 
enough to be worth the trouble of picking up again. Her 
own thoughts, to be sure, were not very interesting either ; 
but such as they were, they were a little more so than the 
author’s, so she gave them a free rein. As she lay there, 
gazing up through the sunlit foliage at the blue sky over- 
head, she was wondering how in the world she would 
manage to get through the summer without being bored to 
extinction, and amusing herself by imagining all sorts of 
exciting events, which might conceivably happen, but were 
not in the least likely to happen. The first event of any 
importance that could be counted upon with certainty was 


248 


MARCIA. 


the arrival in the autumn of Mr. Mortimer’s yacht and its 
owner; and that could hardly^be called an exciting inci- 
dent, for as she had spent some time on board the yacht, 
and had danced repeatedly with its owner in London, 
neither of them possessed the attraction of novelty. Not 
that she had a word to say against the vessel or against 
Mr. Mortimer, for the matter of that. .She liked the latter 
a good deal better than she liked most of her partners ; she 
was perfectly aware — although she was not supposed to be 
aware — that her mother and all her relations wished her to 
marry him, and since he was rich, well-connected and well- 
conducted, there was nothing surprising or unreasonable 
in their wish. She thought it quite on the cards that she 
might accept him when he proposed to her, as he unques- 
tionably would do before long ; but she had not made up 
her mind, nor was she in any hurry to make it up. 

And indeed the thought of this suitor was not one upon 
which she cared to linger for more than a few moments. 
She had forgotten all about him, and was once more enjoy- 
ing the pleasures of imaginative speculation when she 
was recalled to actualities by the sound of her mother’s 
voice hard by. 

“ You will cut off a long piece of road by going down 
through the garden,” Lady Wetherby was saying to some 
unseen person or persons. You can’t mistake your 
way, and you will find the little gate unlocked. Good- 
bye.” 

“ Oh, bother ! ” ejaculated Evelyn under her breath ; 
“ what business have people to call at this hour of the day ! 
The chances are that they will see me, and full well I know 
that if they do see me they will pull up and hail me without 
the slightest compunction. The only thing to be done is 
to feign slumber. Unscrupulous as they are, I should 
think they would draw the line at shaking a person until 
she wakes.” 

She accordingly closed her eyes and became to all 
appearances unconscious of everything about her. But if 
her eyes were shut her ears were open, and the approach, 
ing tramp of a man’s foot-fall upon the gravel path caused 
her to prick them up. This visitor, it seemed, was of the 
masculine gender and singular number. Furthermore, he 
was in the wrong case ; because he had turned to the left 
instead of the right, and the path which he had chosen 


MARCIA. 


249 

would take him to Lady Evelyn’s elbow, but not much 
farther. Under the circumstances, it was a question 
whether one ought not to conquer one’s somnolence so far 
as to become awa're of the strayed explorer and give him 
some friendly information as to his bearings — always 
supposing, of course, that inspection should prove him to 
be a fit object for benevolence. It was but a cursory in- 
spection that Evelyn could make of him through her eye- 
lashes when he came alongside and stopped short, as she 
had been sure that he would do, on perceiving the sleeping 
beauty in the hammock ; but that brief glimpse must have 
been satisfactory, for she at once sat up and looked 
smilingly at the stranger. 

He took off his hat and said, “I beg your pardon.” 

“Not at all,” answered Lady Evelyn politely. “Are 
you trying to find your way out? ” 

The tall, dark-haired young man whom she addressed 
replied that he was. “ I am not a trespasser,” he thought 
it right to explain ; “ I came with a message from my 
mother, Mrs. Archdale, and Lady Wetherby told me that 
I could get out by a gate at the bottom of the garden.” 

Quite right,” answered the young lady ; “ only this 
path doesn’t lead to it, or anywhere else, except to the 
heap where the gardeners throw the cabbage-stalks and 
things which they are too lazy to burn. I’ll go with you 
and shew you where you ought to have kept straight on, 
instead of turning off at right angles,” she added with a 
deft movement which brought her feet to the ground. 

“ Oh, thank you, but I won’t give you so much trouble,” 
returned the unknown youth, who was much too modest 
to be embarrassed, or to suspect that a great compliment 
was being paid to him. 

“ It isn’t any trouble,” Lady Evelyn kindly assured 
him. And as soon as she had quite disengaged herself 
from her hammock and had moved a few paces from it, 
she said, “ If Mrs. Archdale is your mother you must be 
Mr. Brett. We have met before, although I suppose you 
have forgotten it.” 

Willie .showed his white teeth and answered, “ No, I 
haven’t forgotten it, but it was a very long time ago. I 
was a small boy in those days.” 

“Yes ; and I was a still smaller girl. You were a friend 
of my brother’s then, I think. Have you kept up your 
friendship with him ? ” 


250 


MARCIA, 


She knew very well that he had not ; but she liked the 
look of him and wanted to make him talk to her, which 
he, for his part, was not in the least unwilling to do. He 
explained at some length, and with a simplicity which con- 
firmed her favorable impression of him, that he had not 
seen much of her brother at Eton, and nothing at all since 
he had left. 

“ Wetherby went to Oxford, I believe,” he said, “ and I 
didn’t. I’m in the army now.” 

Lady Evelyn’s previous acquaintance with young men 
had led her to the conclusion that nine out of ten of them 
are ludicrously vain, silly and self-conscious. As far as a 
middle-aged man is capable of judging, she was wrong; 
but it is certain that many persons of her sex, standing 
and experience would pronounce her rights and it has to 
be remembered that they have opportunities of forming an 
opinion upon the subject which are denied to us. How- 
ever that may be, she was greatly pleased with Willie 
Brett, who seemed to her, and probably was, quite unlike 
the average adolescent Briton. In a very few minutes she 
found out more about his tastes and views than his mother 
knew ; she graciously imparted to him some of her own, 
and showed herself so amiably disposed towards him that 
he did not hesitate to say : 

“ I hope you will join a little expedition of ours to An- 
stey’s Cove this afternoon. My mother sent me to ask 
whether you would come, and Lady Wetherby has con- 
sented for herself, but wouldn’t answer for you. Mr. Arch- 
dale has gone out there to make a sketch, and we are to 
follow him and have tea on the beach. It doesn’t sound a 
particularly attractive programme ; still, if you had nothing 
better to do ” 

“ I certainly haven’t anything better to do,” replied 
Lady Evelyn, “ and I should like very much to join the 
tea-party, thank you. We shall drive, I suppose ? ” 

Willie answered that Lady Wetherby had kindly offered 
to take him and his mother in her carriage, and that he 
presumed that the offer would be accepted. ‘‘ Flossie — 
my small half-sister, you know — can go in a fly» with the 
kettle and the provisions,” he added. 

A few hours later this arrangement was carried into 
effect. Anstey’s Cove, a more or less secluded bathing- 
resort with which summer visitors to Torau^ are well 


MAI^C/A, 


2St 

acquainted, has always captivated the artistic eye by rea- 
son of the coloring of the rocks and cliffs which surround 
it, as well as the sweep of coast-line which stretches away 
from its shores towards Portland Bill in the far distance, 
and although Mr. Archdale was not a landscape painter, 
he sometimes, when he was in the mood, painted land- 
scapes. Being in the mood for it that day, he had trans- 
ported his easel, his luncheon-basket and the rest of his 
paraphernalia thither after breakfast, and by the time that 
his wife and her friends arrived upon the scene of his labors 
he had achieved results which he hoped would ultimately 
place a comfortable sum of money in his pocket. It was as 
conducing towards that end that he had learnt to value the 
talent that he possessed, and when Lady Wetherby, after 
having expressed the pleasure that it gave her to renew ac- 
quaintance with him, scrutinized his work and praised it, he 
answered laughingly : 

“ Oh, it isn’t worth much. One or two men have taken 
up this line and have got the monopoly of the market. I 
am not considered to be an adept at depicting Nature, 
so I shan’t be very well paid, whether I deserve it or not.” 

“But the great thing,” observed Lady Wetherby, “ is to 
deserve it.” 

“ Oh, no,” returned the artist, shaking his head gravely, 
“ the great thing is to get the pay, and the next best thing 
is to be able to do without it. Unfortunately for me, I am 
not in either of those enviable positions.” 

He was in a good humor that afternoon (his good humor 
was no longer as continuous as it had been in former 
years) ; he left his work to assist Lady Wetherby’s rather 
inefficient footman in making up a fire and boiling the 
kettle ; he evidently wished to be pleasant, and doubtless 
he would have succeeded in being so if the three people for 
whose benefit he was exerting himself had not been hope- 
lessly prejudiced against him. Willie and Lady Wetherby 
could, if they had chosen, have given good reasons for 
their prejudice ; but Evelyn, who knew nothing about the 
man except that he was Mrs. Archdale’s husband, could 
have specified none. However, it was not, in her opinion, 
necessary to sj)ecify reasons for liking or disliking anybody. 
This stout, elderly artist, who assumed some of the airs 
and graces of a youth in addressing her, struck her as a 
contemptible sort of personage, and she took but little 


maj^c/a. 


252 

trouble to conceal what she thought of him. On the other 
hand, she decidedly liked and felt interested in Willie ; so, 
as soon as the tea and cakes had been almost disposed of, 
she asked him whether there was any fish to be caught 
thereabouts. 

Willie replied that he really didn’t know, but that he 
should imagine so. 

Well, then, couldn’t you get a boat and some lines from 
that old fisherman who has been hovering round for the 
last quarter of an hour ? We might go out and try our 
luck while Mr. Archdale finishes his picture and our 
respective mothers talk about whatever it is that mothers 
always talk about and seem to find such an inexhaustible 
subject.” 

The proposition was referred to Lady Wetherby and 
Marcia, neither of whom had anything to urge against it. 
A shady spot was discovered where they could sit and rest 
their backs upon an overhanging rock ; Archdale returned 
to his easel ; Flossie obtained permission to take off her 
shoes and stockings and wade in the pools ; and, every- 
body else’s tastes having thus been thoughtfully provided 
for, Lady Evelyn and Willie were free to consult their 
own. One of them, as has already been mentioned, had 
no great experience of or fancy for such interviews as that 
which now seemed to be before him ; yet he was not so 
abnormal a young man as to dislike the idea of it, nor 
was he altogether unconscious of the compliment that 
Lady Evelyn had paid him in suggesting it. 

Now, when the boat had been pushed off and the lines 
dropped over the side, it appeared that she did not, after 
all, care very much for the pastime upon which she was 
ostensibly engaged. “ Oh, it doesn’t matter,” she said, in 
answer to her companion’s remark that the weather was 
not very propitious for their purpose ; “ sea-fishing is poor 
sport at the best of times. Are you fond of sport ? ” 

“ I am fond of hunting,” replied Willie. 

“ So am I ; but I never have any except when we are at 
Wetherby. We generally stay here through half the winter, 
and of course it isn’t worth while to go out for the sake 
of such hunting as one can get in these parts. Torquay 
is a slow enough place for a woman, but what it must 
be for a man I tremble to think of. How will you manage 
to endure existence here ? ” 


MARCIA, 


25 ^ 

“ Oh, I think I could endure it pretty well, if I were 
obliged,” answered Willie, smiling ; “ it is a very pretty 
place, and I am not particularly exacting. However, I 
shan’t have time to get tired of it, for I shall have to return 
to duty the day after to-morrow.” 

“ So soon !” ejaculated the girl — and he could not but 
notice and be gratified by the evident disappointment with 
which she received this news — “ I thought you were away 
from your regiment on leave. But you will come back 
again perhaps ? ” 

“ Well, I don’t quite know. I shall get long leave in the 
autumn, but whether I shall spend part of it here or not 
will have to depend upon other people. My real home is 
with my uncle,, and I expect he will want me to be at 
Blaydon, where he lives, when the pheasant-shooting begins. 
Besides, I am not sure that my mother and Mr. Archdale 
will ask me to pay them a second visit.” 

As the result of some rumination over the above speech. 
Lady Evelyn observed, “ It must be horrid to have a step- 
father. Don’t you hate him ? ” 

“ I don’t know much about him,” answered Willie ; “ I 
haven’t seen him since I was boy. It would be rather 
unfair to hate him for being my stepfather, though, wouldn’t 
it ? ” 

“ I daresay it would ; but I should hate him for that 
reason, all the same. Added to which, I am quite inclined 
to believe that I should hate him for his own sake. And 1 
can see by the way that you look at him that you do.” 

Willie laughed — he had a low, boyish kind of laugh 
which the least experienced of human beings could recog- 
nize as that of an honest fellow. “ I’m sorry if I looked 
murderous at him,” said he. “ I have no right to hate him 
that I know of ; but I wasn’t very fond of him in old days, 
and I suppose he isn’t quite the sort of man whom I ever 
should choose to make a friend of.” 

“ At all events, I wouldn’t allow him to stand between 
me and my mother if I were you,” Lady Evelyn declared. 

She may have made this statement spontaneously and 
because it was truth, or she may — for her wits were sharp 
— have divined what the young man’s feelings were, and 
what was the shortest road to an intimacy with him. Either 
way, she had no difficulty in breaking down that barrier 
of reticence behind which many people accused him of 


^54 


MARCIA, 


entrenching himself, and in less than a quarter of an hour 
he had confessed to her what he had never confessed to 
anybody else ; namely, that the loss of his mother’s love 
and companionship had been almost a heavier sorrow to 
him than her death would have been. 

“ Of course it was all right,” he hastened to add. “ People 
are entitled to marry again if they choose, and as she had 
fallen out with my uncle, it wasn’t her fault that she had 
to drop me. Still it seemed a little hard.” 

Lady Evelyn was of opinion that it had been very hard 
indeed ; she also thought that only a heartless and selfish 
woman could have acted as Marcia had done. But she 
knew better than to say what she thought. “ I daresay it has 
been quite as hard for your mother as it has been for you,” 
was the only comment upon which she ventured, and the 
young man thought it a very kind and sympathetic one. 

But it was not only in order to utter or listen to kindly 
and sympathetic speeches that they had put out to sea ; and 
of this they were reminded when Evelyn’s line, which she 
had been holding loosely between her fingers all this time, 
was suddenly twitched from her grasp. 

“ Good gracious ! ” she exclaimed, “ I do believe I have 
caught a fish ! ” 

She had undoubtedly hooked a fish ; whether she would 
have caught him if Willie had not promptly seized her 
line is another question. However, that kind of angling 
can scarcely be included among the fine arts, and, after 
some moments of anxiety, the line was restored to her in 
order that she might have the pride and satisfaction of 
hauling a huge conger-eel into the boat. Now, when you 
are in a small open boat in company with a conger-eel of 
fine proportions, nothing is of such urgent necessity as to 
kill him before he bites one of your fingers off. As he is 
not quite the easiest animal in the world for a novice to kill, 
Willie had his work cut out for him during the next 
few seconds, and consequently did not notice a look of 
annoyance and consternation which had come over his 
companion’s face. Not until the deed was done, and he 
was offering her his congratulations, did he perceive that 
something was amiss. 

“ What is the matter ? ” he asked anxiously. “ Did the 
line cut your fingers ? ” 

“ Oh, no,” answered Evelyn ; “ only in pulling it in, one 
of my bracelets slipped over my hand, and has gone down 


MARC /A. 


25S 

to the bottom of the sea. It is tiresome : but it can’t be 
helped.” 

“ I am so sorry ! ” said Willie. “Is it a bracelet that 
you care very much about ? ” 

“Well, I didn’t want to lose it. However, we can’t 
possibly get it back again, so there’s no use in crying about 
it. I must console myself with that repulsive-looking 
monster that I have secured in its place. Can we eat 
him ? ” 

“ I doubt whether you would like him,” answered Willie, 
“ although I believe that he is considered eatable. But 
perhaps I may be able to get your bracelet back for you 
to-morrow. Anyhow, I’ll try. We know the exact spot, 
you see.” 

“Do we?” asked Lady Evelyn rather absently. 

It was evident that the loss of this trinket had distressed 
her more than she cared to show, and it was also evident 
that she placed no sort of confidence in Willie’s ability to 
recover it. Both of these circumstances may have made 
him all the more determined to succeed in a somewhat 
doubtful enterprise ; but he allowed the subject to drop 
for the time being, and, as Lady Wetherby was now seen 
to be .signalling with her pocket-handkerchief from the 
shore, his conversational powers were not taxed much far- 
ther. He had the pleasure of driving home in a fly with 
his stepfather, Marcia having suddenly and at the last 
moment stated her intention of keeping Flossie with her. 

Archdale, leaning back in the jingling conveyance and 
puffing at his cigar, contemplated his silent neighbor with 
a smile of amusement. “ Really it’s no fault of mine, my 
dear fellow,” said he. “ Of course you would like to be in 
the carriage with the ladies, and I’m sure nothing would 
give me greater pleasure than to see you there ; but I pre- 
sume that, for some reason best known to themselves, they 
don’t want you. They don’t always want us, you know ; 
but be consoled — they generally do. And, after a good 
many years’ experience of them and their ways, I am be- 
ginning to think that it would be a happy and fortunate 
thing for us if they didn’t.” 

Mr. Archdale was fond of enlarging upon that theme. 
He had always been a child of Nature, and he had now 
reached a time of life at which it appears to be one of 
Nature’s laws that a man should derive satisfaction from 


256 


MARCIA, 


futile moralizings. He went on talking, and said some 
cynical things as well as some which were perhaps true and 
a few which were almost witty. He amused himself and 
did no harm to his companion, who was not listening to 
him. What Willie was thinking was that that bracelet 
must have been given to Lady Evelyn by somebody to 
whom she was fondly attached. Possibly by her mother, 
or even by her brother. He had gathered from what she 
had told him that she was not engaged to be married ; so 
that assuredly no man who was not related to her would 
have had the impertinence to present her with a bracelet. 
In any case, he must fish it up from the depths of the sea 
for her, and this he was fully determined to do. In that 
way he might count at the least upon pleasing her, and- 
perhaps also upon earning her gratitude. 

“ I suppose, if one wants to bathe before breakfast, one 
can always get hold of some fellow who will lake one out 
in a boat,” he said, quite irrelevantly, during one of the 
pauses which broke his stepfather’s leisurely discourse. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

THE FULFILMENT OF PROPHECY. 

In days gone by fashionable young ladies who were wont 
to dance all night seldom showed themselves to an ex- 
pectant world before noonday ; but the present generation, 
as anybody may perceive by taking a stroll into Hyde Park 
after breakfast, has other habits. Some people affirm that 
this is because their consciences will not allow them to 
rest ; but the theory sounds far-fetched : it is more likely 
that their supply of vitality is greater than that of their 
mothers used to be, because they have been born of a race 
of comparatively abstemious parents. Be that as it may, 
Evelyn Foljambe was an early riser, and on the day follow- 
ing that of the expedition to Anstey’s Cove which has been 
described, she was out in the garden by ten o’clock in the 
morning. 

Now, although she was a fashionable young lady, she 
was also impressionable (which most of them, as far as one 
can discover, are not) ; so it was natural enough that her 


MARCIA, 


257 


maiden meditations should centre round the rather grave 
and reserved youth who had taken her out fishing and had 
as good as promised to restore her lost bracelet to her. It 
had been Willie’s good fortune to interest her. She 
thought he had expressive eyes — and indeed she was not 
wrong there — she thought that his face, as well as his con- 
versation, exhibited a strange mixture of cheerfulness and 
melancholy ; she thought, in short, that he would repay 
cultivation ; and there is nothing extravagant in the sup- 
position that that was why she sauntered down as far as 
the garden gate and stood with her elbows resting upon it 
until the figure of a tall young man, clad in flannels, was 
discovered approaching along the road. 

She was not surprised to see him ; but apparently he 
was surprised to see her, for he started when he recognized 
her, and a slight flush showed itself on his cheeks as he 
took off his cap, saying : 

“ I was on my way to your house. I found your brace- 
let all right, and I hope it isn’t any the worse for having 
spent the night under water.” 

It did not seem to be any the worse when he produced 
it from his pocket. It was one of those hoops known as 
bracelets de ho7iheur, and only differed from the prescribed 
aspect of such talismans by being formed of alternate dia- 
monds and rubies instead of plain gold. 

“ Oh, thank you ! ” exclaimed Lady Evelyn gratefully. 

I never expected to see it again. How in the world did 
you contrive to get hold of it ? ” 

“ Well, I dived until I found it. That was easily enough 
done, of course.” 

“ I should have thought that nothing could be more 
difficult. How many times did you have to dive ? ” 

Willie did not remember, and consequently could not 
say ; but he seemed anxious to make it understood that he 
would cheerfully have gone on diving all day long rather 
than have failed in his purpose. “ I was sure that you 
valued the bracelet for more than its intrinsic worth,” he 
explained. 

“ Were you ? ” said Lady Evelyn, passing the circlet over 
her hand and smiling at him. “ I don’t know that I value 
it so very, very much ; still one doesn’t like to lose pre- 
sents. The person who has given you the present might 
ask you what had become of it, and then, if you had to tell 

17 


258 


MARCIA, 


him that you had accidentally dropped it into the sea, he 
might be out out. It takes so little to put some people 
out.” 

Willie Brett, at all events, was not easily put out ; yet 
he was a little put out now by Lady Evelyn’s incidental 
admission that the donor of her bracelet had been a man. 
And surely it was a very pardonable curiosity on his part 
that made him desirous of discovering who that man might 
have been. 

“ I suppose,” said he, with a most unsuccessful assump- 
tion of indifference, “ it wasn’t your brother who gave you 
the thing, was it? ” 

“ I will not deceive you,” replied Lady Evelyn gravely ; 
“ the thing was not given to me by my brother. He doesn’t 
often give me things. Wetherby is a very decent sort of 
brother, as brothers go ; but he has a bad memory for 
dates, so that he generally ignores my birthday. If you 
want to know who did give it to me, I don’t at all mind 
telling you. It was a certain Mr. Mortimer, who will be 
coming here shortly in his yacht, and who will be certain 
to fix his eyes upon my wrist the moment that he shakes 
hands with me.” 

“ Oh ! ” said Willie ; and if this announcement made 
him feel as though somebody had suddenly planted a dagger 
in his heart, the reader will probably understand the 
cause of his uncomfortable sensations better than he him- 
self did. 

“ Yes,” continued Lady Evelyn tranquilly ; “ I had a bet 
with him about something — I forget what — and I won it. 
Even mamma, who is very particular, admits that debts of 
honor must be paid ; so she allowed me to accept the 
gift, although she said it looked rather compromising. Do 
you think,” she inquired innocently, “ that one compro- 
mises oneself by accepting gifts of that kind? ” 

Willie hadn’t a doubt of it. However, he only said, 
“ Oh, I can’t pretend to be a judge. Perhaps, if your friend 
Mr. Mortimer is an old gentleman ” 

“ But unfortunately he isn’t ; he is quite a young gentle- 
man. In fact, as he was at Eton with Wetherby, he must 
have been at Eton with you. Possibly you may recollect 
him?” 

Willie nodded rather gloomily, “ Quite well ; he was in 
my tutor’s house. A very good-looking fellow.” 


MARCIA, 


259 


I believe he is considered so,” replied Lady Evelyn, 
who was probably enjoying this colloquy a great deal 
more than she ought to have done. “ Does that make 
things worse? If it does, you might take the bracelet and 
throw it into the sea again. Rather than incur your dis- 
approval, I would nerve myself to endure that loss.” 

“ I beg your pardon,” said the young man in a hurt 
voice ; “ I didn’t mean to be impertinent.” 

“ You weren’t a bit impertinent,” she returned, laughing, 
“and I am glad to have my bracelet back, although I 
shouldn’t have broken my heart if I had lost it, and I am 
very much obliged to you for all the trouble that you have 
taken. Will that do? ” 

At any rate, he could not reasonably expect her to. say 
more. He expressed himself satisfied, and then, as she 
did not ask him to enter the house, he look his leave. 

“We may hope to see you again in the course of the 
autumn, may we not ? ” she inquired. To which he replied 
that he would certainly do his best to come, if invited. 

Somehow or other, he went away feeling rather dispirited. 
Lady Evelyn had been very kind and pleasant to him — 
much more so, if he had only known it, than she was in 
the habit of being to casual young men — but it was quite 
clear, he thought, that she would forget all about him the 
moment that his back was turned. Indeed, there was no 
reason in the world for her remembering him, nor perhaps 
any sufficient one for his desiring her to do so. He had, 
however, reached the point of feeling perfectly certain that 
he could never forget her, and of determining that he would 
miss no opportunity of recalling himself to her recollec- 
tion. Only the thought of Mortimer discouraged and 
disheartened him. Mortimer was rich, handsome, and 
probably belonged to the social set in which Lady We- 
therby mixed ; whereas he himself, although rich — or at 
least likely to become so — was quite unknown to the 
fashionable world and had no personal attractions. He 
was a very modest youth, and that was the estimate that 
he had formed of himself. For his weal or for his woe, he 
had fallen in love with a girl whose rank was above his 
own, and everything led him to believe that she would go 
tranquilly on her way, without so much as noticing that 
she had walked over the prostrate body of a young infantry 
officer. Holding such convictions, he would doubtless 


26 o 


AfARCIA, 


have been wiser to abandon all idea of revisiting Torquay ; 
but no one can be wise and in love at one and the same 
time. Later in the day, therefore, he asked his mother 
whether she would like him to spend a part of his forth- 
coming leave with her, and had the satisfaction of receiving 
an unhesitating reply in the affirmative. 

“ How good of you to wish it ! ” exclaimed Marcia 
gratefully ffor it had not been deemed necessary to tell her 
anything about the loss and recovery of Lady Evelyn’s 
bracelet). “ It will be horribly dull for you, I know ; but 
perhaps it may console you a little to remember wh^t plea- 
sure you will be giving to me. Won’t Sir George make 
difficulties, though ? ” 

“ Yes, I daresay he will,” answered the young man ; 

but I expect I shall be able to make it all right. As soon 
as I came of age, he admitted that I was my own master, 
and of course I shall put in a week or two at Blaydon.” 

It seemed, in fact, unlikely that Sir George Brett could 
find any decent excuse for giving trouble in the matter ; 
yet before this conversation came to an end an event which 
that gentleman professed to foresee, and of which he cer- 
tainly would not have approved, had taken place. 

Marcia and her son had gone out for a walk together, 
and had wandered as far as one of the slopes overlooking 
the sea which is known as the New Cut, and has been pret- 
tily laid out with shrubs and zigzag paths and benches in 
sheltered spots. They had been sitting upon one of the 
latter for some little time before she reverted to the subject 
of her domestic anxieties, which, it appeared, were chiefly, 
though not exclusively, of a pecuniary character. That 
Archdale had not proved himself altogether beyond re- 
proach as a husband Willie had already been given to 
understand ; he now gathered that his mother’s fortune 
had been slowly but steadily encroached upon by the de- 
mands of the establishment until it was alarmingly near 
extinction. 

“ It is useless to preach economy to Cecil,” Marcia 
declared ; “ he won’t understand that it is impossible to 
go on living upon one’s capital, and he gets impatient when 
I try to explain to him that we spend rather more than 
double our income every year. He says we have no fixed 
income, which of course is true enough ; but if he sells a 
picture he always counts that as a sort of windfall, and 


MARCIA. 


261 


throws away the money at once upon all sorts of luxuries 
that we don’t want. The consequence is that I can hardly 
pay my way from day to day. I can’t imagine anything 
that would give me greater joy at the present moment 
than to hear that somebody had left me a hundred pounds.” 

Now, a hundred pounds is not a very large sum. At all 
events, a hunting man who stands over six feet in his stock- 
ings can hardly expect to find a horse that will carry him 
at a lower figure, and Willie, as it happened, was even now 
in treaty for an animal whose price was about half as 
much again. He thought he could do very well without 
that horse, and he was sure that his mother needed .£150 
a great deal more than he did. He therefore begged her 
to let him have the satisfaction of relieving her from worry 
in that simple and easy way. 

She protested a little, but not very much or very long. 
After all, Willie was extremely well off for a bachelor, and 
would some day come into a great fortune. Had their 
positions been reversed, she would have thought him most 
unkind if he had refused to let her help him, and why 
should she be unkind to one whom she loved so dearly? 
Perhaps she was an adept at self-deception ; perhaps he 
was adroit in the methods of persuasion which he em- 
ployed ; or, more probably, she believed what he said 
because he was evidently telling the truth. In any case, 
she ended with the comfortable, conviction that she was 
doing him a favor by accepting his trifling gift. He abso- 
lutely declined to call it a loan, affirming that, if it came to 
a debtor and creditor question, he owed her far more than 
that. 

Possibly he did owe her more ; for she had been a good 
and kind mother to him in his childhood, and such debts 
are not to be discharged by money payments. He was, at 
any rate, very glad that he was able to be of some service 
to her. He wrote out a cheque for the required amount 
as soon as they returned to the house, and dismissed the 
subject from his mind forthwith. 

He was, however, reminded of it in a somewhat un- 
pleasant way about ten days later. By that time he had 
returned to his regiment, and as his stepfather had given 
him a kind and even pressing invitation to revisit Torquay 
in the autumn, he had written to his uncle to announce 
what his intentions were. Sir George Brett’s answer, which 


262 


MARCIA. 


arrived by return of post, was not altogether agreeable 
reading : 

“My Dear Willie, 

“You are aware that I am strongly opposed to your associating 
upon terms of intimacy with Mr. and Mrs. Archdale ; you are also 
aware of the reasons which I have for opposing you upon this point. 
Nevertheless, you are free to please yourself, and although it is a great 
disappointment to your aunt to hear that you will not be with her 
during the whole of your leave, she recognizes, as I do, that two old 
people cannot fairly ask a young fellow to devote himself solely to 
them. The time, however, has now come for me to speak to you 
seriously and decisively upon a subject which I have already mentioned 
to you ; I mean the risk of your being eventually called upon to support 
your mother and her husband. Your own money you can, of course, 
spend in any fashion that may seem good to you ; but I wish you to 
understand, once for all, that if you spend it, or any part of it, in loans 
to Mrs. Archdale, you will inherit none of mine. I have worked hard 
all my life, and I have no idea of allowing the fruits of my labors to be 
dissipated in foreign countries by a pair of spendthrifts. I can under- 
stand that it may be difficult for you to resist your mother’s appeals ; 
but you will have to resist them, and if you do not do so at once you 
will never do so at all. It is evident that I am not premature in con- 
veying this warning to you ; for a few days ago a cheque for ;^I50, 
drawn by you in favor of Mrs. Archdale, was handed in at the bank. 
I desire to make no further comment upon the incident; I merely 
request you to take note of the fact that, should such a thing occur 
again, the consequence which I have indicated will inevitably follow 

“ Your aunt joins me in love to you, and in the hope that you will 
see how undesirable it is that your stay under Mr. Archdale’s roof 
should be a protracted one. 

“Your affectionate uncle, 

“ George Brett.” 

This is the sort of thing that comes of opening a bank- 
ing account with one’s relations. Probably Willie Brett 
was not the first man who has realized and regretted the 
inconveniences entailed thereby. 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

MR. MORTIMER. 

When Lady Wetherby said her prayers — and this she did 
with unfailing regularity twice a day— she never forgot to 
return thanks for the extraordinary number of blessings 
which had been showered upon her all her life long. She 


MARCIA. 


263 


had, it is true, lost her husband, and that had been a terri- 
ble grief to her ; but time had caused the wound to heal 
over, and she had not the shadow of a doubt that she would 
meet him again in a future state of existence,^ and in the 
meantime she was very well contented to linger for a while 
upon the surface of this more or less agreeable planet. She 
had found her residence here below agreeable, as well she 
might ; for she had good health, a large jointure, and 
children who had given her all the happiness that it is in the 
power of children to bestow upon a fond parent. If We- 
therby had any vices, she was not aware of them, while 
Evelyn, though she had sometimes behaved in away which 
had made her mother a little uneasy, now seemed quite 
inclined to do the right thing and marry Mr. Mortimer and 
take her place amongst the better class of young matrons. 

Lady Wetherby, who was as good a woman as ever 
breathed, would not for the world have urged any daugh- 
ter of hers to marry for the sake of wealth or position, but, 
other things being equal, a son-in-law who possesses both 
of these advantages is a son-in-law to be desired, and there 
were very few mothers in England who would not have 
deemed Mr. Mortimer desirable. He had large estates in 
several counties ; he was a gentleman and a sportsman; 
he raced a little and hunted a good deal and shot pretty 
well ; probably he would enter Parliament before he was 
much older. Nobody had a word to say against him, 
while very many people were loud in praising him ; so that 
there was every reason to rejoice at the thought that he 
would shortly be coming to Torquay in his yacht, and that 
he would come with a special and scarcely disguised pur- 
pose. 

Lady Wetherby had no great fear but that he would suc- 
ceed in that purpose. So far as she was aware, he was 
without a rival, and assuredly it would never have occurred 
to her to dread poor Willie Brett in that capacity. Indeed 
she was but seldom reminded of the young man after his 
departure, nor did she see very much of her neighbor and 
the friend of her youth. Evelyn did not get on with Mrs. 
Archdale, and when Evelyn did' not get on with a person 
it was always the simplest plan to avoid asking that person 
to the house. So, although Marcia and Lady Wetherby 
remained upon the best of terms, their intercourse was 
confined to occasional drives into the country, during which 


264 


MARCIA. 


the former discoursed chiefly upon the disenchantments of 
life, the latter listening in a good-humored, somnolent 
fashion and abstaining from contradiction when she found 
herself unable to agree. 

All this time Willie had not only remembered Lady 
Evelyn, but was thinking about her through every hour of 
the long summer days. He had never been in love before, 
and now he had taken the disease in its severest form. He 
was not sanguine ; he was sure that she did not care for 
him, he doubted whether she ever would, and he thought 
it extremely likely that she already cared for somebody 
else. Nevertheless, he would not for any earthly consider- 
ation have obliterated the memory of her from his mind, 
or parted with the sweet sorrow which, as he was con- 
vinced, was destined to last him his life. It does not and 
cannot last. Love, like all the other passions and emo- 
tions which stir the surface of our shallow mortal nature, 
passes away ; but young people do not know this, and will 
not believe it when they are told, and in truth one would 
be very sorry if they did believe it. For the rest, it may 
be admitted that some men and women are far more con- 
stant than the general run. 

Willie Brett might fairly claim to have established a 
character for fidelity. He had not been unfaithful as a 
lover, for the excellent reason that he had not hitherto 
been a lover at all ; but he had been somewhat unusually 
faithful as a son, and he was now fully prepared to brave 
his uncle’s displeasure for his mother’s sake. If it was 
not entirely for her sake that he contemplated spending a 
month or six weeks in the watering-place where she was 
sojourning, yet he would cheerfully have done as much to 
please her, nor would he have been deterred from doing 
so by any fear of Sir George. He respectfully signified 
his determination to that powerful personage, promising 
that the latter portion of his leave should be passed at 
Blaydon, and abstaining from any promise as to the future 
disposal of his private means ; after which he had the com- 
fort of feeling that he had done his duty all round, and 
might legitimately employ his leisure in dreaming of the 
good time that was coming. 

A very happy fellow he was when the longed-for day 
came at last, and he reached that beautiful and sunny town 
of villas which had the privilege of containing the two 


MARCIA. 


265 


people whom he loved best on earth. One of them was 
ready to receive him with open arms. Perhaps she would 
have been less demonstrative had she believed in the exist- 
ence of a rival ; but, oddly enough, she had not detected 
what had been perfectly apparent to her husband, and had 
laughed the suggestion of that experienced observer to 
scorn. As one grows old one does not, as a rule, grow 
more credulous ; yet one grows more willing to believe 
whatever one wishes to believe, and Marcia would not 
have been Marcia if she had not wished her son’s heart to 
belong to her alone. 

“ It is such perfect happiness to have you with me again, 
Willie ! ” she exclaimed. “ But I have never doubted you 
through all these long years ; I always felt sure that you 
would come back to me some day.” 

One would have thought, to hear her, that it had been he 
who had separated himself from her, and it is not in the 
least impossible that she may have formed some confused 
impression to that effect. In any case, he did not quarrel 
with the terms in which she welcomed him, nor did his 
patience give way when she embarked upon a plaintive 
recital of her grievances. Torquay, she told him, was 
ineffably dull. Cecil did not find it so, because he was 
always playing whist at the club when he was networking 
by fits and starts at an unfinished picture ; but she herself 
had no friends and no interests in the place. “ However, 
it is comparatively cheap, so I suppose one ought not to 
grumble,” she concluded, with a sigh. 

“ But you have Lady Wetherby : she is still here, isn’t 
she ? ” asked Willie, for he was naturally anxious to ascer- 
tain that much. 

“ Oh, yes ; Laura is still here ; only she isn’t much use, 
somehow. Laura is one of those people who have got 
everything that they can possibly want, and have sunk into 
a state of sleepy contentment which makes them rather 
uninteresting to associate with. Besides, she generally 
has friends or relations staying with her, so that we don’t 
meet very often. Her daughter is a rude, disagreeable 
sort of girl, too.” 

That singularly inappreciative expression of opinion was 
all that Willie was able to obtain from his mother in the 
way of information about Lady Evelyn ; but he was more 
successful with Flossie, who presently came in to tea, and 


266 


MARCIA, 


who, after greeting him enthusiastically, led him out into 
the garden to show him the spot where she had interred 
the remains of a deceased canary. Flossie, it appeared, 
had made friends with Lady Evelyn, and required but 
little encouragement to expatiate upon the young lady’s 
charms. 

“Is she going to marry Mr. Mortimer?” the child 
inquired. “ Everybody says she is. You know Mr. Mor- 
timer, don’t you? He has come here in his yacht, and he 
told me he would take me out sailing some day, but he 
hasn’t done it yet.” 

“ I used to know him when we were boys,” answered 
poor Willie, with a sinking sensation about the region of 
the heart ; “ I have never seen him since. I suppose he 
is as good-looking as ever ? ” 

Flossie made a grimace. “ Oh, I don’t know. He isn’t 
bad ; but he isn’t half good enough for Lady Evelyn. I 
should like you to marry her,” this impartial looker-on con- 
tinued, with engaging candor. “Do you flirt with her? 
Papa says you do, and then mamma gets quite red and says 
‘ Stuff and nonsense ! ’ ” 

“ Mamma is right,” replied Willie gravely ; “ I have 
never flirted with Lady Evelyn Foljambe, and I have never 
had the chance. Is she — er — given to flirting ? ” 

But to this insidious question Flossie could make no 
satisfactory response. Was flirting wrong? If it was, 
Lady Evelyn certainly didn’t do it. She seemed to like 
Mr. Mortimer, though ; and that was a pity, because Mr. 
Mortimer was “not nearly as nice as you are.” 

All this was not very reassuring, and the worst of it was 
that Flossie’s statements were fully corroborated by Mr. 
Archdale, who came in from the club just before dinner, 
and who professed himself greatly pleased by the arrival 
of his guest. It was not until the two men were smoking 
together in the evening that he broached the subject to 
which Willie had more than once tried ineffectually to lead 
up ; but when he did so he was as explicit as could have 
been desired. 

“ I am sorry to tell you, my dear fellow,” said he, “ that 
your nose has been put out of joint. I saw that you were 
smitten with the fair Lady Evelyn when you were down 
here last — you needn’t blush, there’s nothing to be ashamed 
of in that — so my heart quite bled for you when I found 


MARCIA. 


267 


that another was destined to bear away the prize. If I 
were in your place, I daresay I should try to cut out Mr. 
Mortimer, for the fun of the thing ; but the chances are 
that you wouldn’t succeed, and if you did succeed you 
would undoubtedly' regret it afterwards. People who marry 
always do regret it afterwards. All the same, she is an un- 
commonly pretty girl.” 

“ Is Lady Evelyn engaged to Mortimer ? ” Willie asked, 
in i. voice which he could not contrive to keep steady. 

Well, no ; I believe not. But she is going to be. It’s 
a first-rate match, you see. You yourself are not to be 
sneezed at ; but, saving your presence, Mortimer is a cut 
above you. There’s a vast difference between expectation 
and possession, not to mention his aristocratic connec- 
tions.” 

Now it was evidently out of the question to discuss 
such a topic any further with a man who regarded it in 
that vulgar light. Willie disclaimed any intention of pitting 
himself against Mr. Mortimer, and began to talk about 
something else. Nevertheless, he walked over to Lady 
Wetherby’s villa on the following morning, though he knew 
that he was doing an unusual and unceremonious thing by 
calling before luncheon. When it comes to be a question 
of life or death, or of life-long misery or happiness, use and 
ceremonial must needs be disregarded. 

Not, of course, that he was so insane as to think of hint- 
ing to Lady Wetherby at the motives which had prompted 
this matutinal visit. He found her in the drawing-room, 
writing letters, and she was so kind as to say that he did 
not interrupt her at all, and he duly discoursed upon 
topics which did not possess the slightest interest for either 
of them during fully five minutes before he made so bold 
as to inquire after Lady Evelyn. 

“ Oh, she is quite well, thank you,” answered Lady 
Wetherby. “ I believe she is sitting out on the verandah 
with Mr. Mortimer. Perhaps you may have heard their 
voices.” 

Willie thought he had — indeed he was quite sure that he 
had, and he was not very reluctant to comply with a sug- 
gestion which his good-natured hostess presently put for- 
ward. 

“ I don’t want to send you away,” said she ; “ but I 
really must finish these tiresome letters before luncheon. 


268 


MARCIA. 


Won’t you stay and lunch with us ? And I daresay you 
would be better amused in the meantime if you were to go 
out and join the young people.” 

So he stepped out through the open window, and in an- 
other moment the meeting which he had pictured to himself 
a hundred times as taking place after a hundred different 
fashions was over. It is scarcely necessary to add that he 
did not behave in the least as he had intended to behave, 
and that if Lady Evelyn Foljambe had been the most 
casual of acquaintances he could not have greeted her more 
formally. She said she was so glad he had made up his 
mind to give poor Torquay a second trial, and then she 
introduced him to Mr. Mortimer. 

“ Only you don’t need to be introduced to one another, 
do you ? ” she asked. 

“ Rather not ! ” responded Mr. Mortimer, as he rose 
from the chair in which he had been reclining. He was a 
well-proportioned young man, with light brown hair which 
would have curled crisply if he had allowed it to grow long 
enough ; he had bright blue eyes and a straight nose, and 
his slight moustache did not conceal the perfect curve of 
his lips ; so that altogether it would have been quite absurd 
for any rival to deny him the advantages which belong to 
a prepossessing exterior. 

“This is a rare piece of good luck, Brett,” said he; 
“ I’ve often wondered what had become of you, and I’ve 
asked heaps of fellows ; but nobody knew anything more 
than that you had gone into the Army. I say, do you re- 
member our both getting nailed up at Windsor fair ? I was 
swished and you weren’t, which I thought hard lines at the 
time, and I think so still.” 

“ Not a bit,” answered Willie. “ I could plead ‘ first 
fault ’ and you couldn’t ; that was how it happened.” 

Well, it was impossible to resist the friendly overtures of 
an old schoolfellow who could appeal to such reminiscences : 
added to which, Willie felt that he had no right in the 
world to quarrel with any man for being more highly 
favored by fortune than he himself was. In manhood, as 
in boyhood, contests may be amicable, and a gentleman 
should always be ready to say “ Detur digniori^' however 
bitter may be the pangs of defeat. Therefore, since Lady 
Evelyn was so obliging as to second her mother’s invita- 
tion, and since Mortimer had a vast stock of incidents 


MARCIA. 


269 


relating to old Eton days to refer to and chuckle over, 
Willie consented to remain where he was, nor had he any 
reason to repent of his decision. For it really did not seem 
to him that Lady Evelyn and Mortimer conducted them- 
selves at all like a pair of lovers, though he kept an anxious 
watch upon them both before luncheon and during that 
meal. Mortimer, it was true, appeared to admire her (small 
blame to him), and was in a certain sense attentive to her ; 
but they did not, so far as Willie could discover, exchange 
any stolen or significant glances, nor did they manifest the 
slightest desire to rid themselves of the company of third 
persons. On the contrary, they both entreated him to 
come on board the yacht on the following day and sail 
round to Dartmouth. To be sure. Lady Evelyn rather 
robbed this invitation of its flattering character by adding : 
“ It will be an act of real kindness to mamma if you will 
come. Her duty as a mother and a chaperon compels her 
to brave the perils of the deep with us ; but she hates the 
whole thing, and she will feel ever so much happier if she 
is provided with a companion in misfortune.” 

But if that sounded a little like an intimation that he was 
valued rather for purposes of general utility than for his 
own sake, the same objection could not be brought against 
a proposal which Mortimer broached as soon as they had 
left the dining-room. 

“ How are you going to get through the afternoon, 
Brett? ” he asked. “ You haven’t an idea, of course ; it’s 
impossible that you should in a place like this. Well, now. 
I’ll tell you what you shall do. You shall come out to 
Babbacombe Down with me and we’ll play golf. Did you 
ever play golf before ? ” 

Willie shook his head. I’ve seen it played once or 
twice,” he answered; “ it didn’t look to me to be much of 
a game.” 

“ That’s all you know about it ! However, for tne sake 
of argument, we’ll call it a poor game if you like. Even 
so, it’s exercise, and any game is better than lolling in a 
garden-chair and staring at the view, isn’t it ? ” 

Willie was of opinion that that depended very much up- 
on the question of who might chance to be sitting in the 
neighborhood of the garden-chair ; but he was gratified to 
hear so frank a confession of his friend’s tastes, and when 
Lady Evelyn announced that she would drive her pony- 


270 


MARCIA, 


cart as far as the downs later in the afternoon for the pur- 
pose of seeing how the players got on, he was able to say 
with perfect honesty that he would like very much to try 
his hand at golf. Given such conditions as were offered 
to him, he would have liked very much to try his hand at 
marbles. Lady Wetherby, it appeared, did not deem her 
duty as a mother and a chaperon compelled her to accom- 
pany her daughter on this occasion, for she observed that 
she was going to pay a round of calls. 

“ And I think,” she added, “ I will end by looking in 
upon your mother and telling her that you are in safe 
custody. Otherwise she may take it into her head that you 
have fallen over one of the cliffs.” 

“ Well, then, that’s all settled,” said Mortimer, who 
seemed to have a good-humored matter-of-course way of 
settling things in accordance with his personal wishes. 
“ Come on, Brett, we shall have to look sharp if we want 
to finish before dark.” 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

LADY EVELYN BACKS THE WINNER. 

What makes the average upper-class Englishman so much 
happier, healthier, wiser, and more serviceable than his 
compeers of other nations (and nobody, it is to be hoped, 
will have the perversity to deny that he is all of these 
things) is, without doubt, his inherited and invincible love 
for sports and pastimes. It may seem a little hard upon 
those whose avocations debar them from hunting, rowing, 
cricketing, and playing football, and whose tastes do not 
incline them thereto, that they should deteriorate physi- 
cally and mentally, by reason of their disabilities ; but 
many natural laws seem hard, and the most superficial 
observers cannot fail to perceive that people who lead 
a sedentary life do deteriorate. Nevertheless, rowing is a 
pursuit which usually has to be abandoned before youth is 
well past, and football is a game for boys rather than for 
men, and middle-aged cricketers are seldom of much use ; 
so that a man may very well be still full of vigor and yet 
not know how to provide his body with the exercise which 
it requires, unless he has learnt to play golf. 


MARCIA. 


27 


Not many years ago, all golfers who dwelt south of the 
Tweed were compelled, when speaking of their favorite 
relaxation, to take up an apologetic tone : they had to ex- 
plain with humility, and with the chilling certainty of being 
disbelieved, that an immense amount of experience, dex- 
terity, and self-command are requisite in order to make 
sure of hitting a little ball across five hundred yards of 
broken ground and depositing it in a small hole in four or 
five strokes : but now that golf-links have been established 
all over England, there is no longer any need to make ex- 
cuses for one of the finest games that human ingenuity or 
the accident of circumstances have ever called into ex- 
istence. The theory of the game is simplicity itself — you 
have only got to put your ball into a hole in one or more 
strokes less than your opponent — but the practice is full 
of difficulty, and, what is better still, full of endless variety ; 
so that you may go on playing golf daily, from the age of 
eight to that of eighty, and yet never grow tired of it. In- 
deed, the circumstance that grey-haired enthusiasts are to 
be seen enjoying themselves thoroughly, and losing their 
temper ludicrously wherever the “ royal and ancient ” sport 
has taken root has caused certain ignorant persons to de- 
scribe golf contemptuously as an old gentleman’s game. 
Such criticisms, however, only come from those who have 
not attempted to acquire the art ; and some of us have 
good reasons for holding that a game which need not be 
abandoned with advancing years is quite the right sort of 
game. 

Golf-links, of course, differ even more widely than 
cricket-grounds ; it is not everywhere that one can obtain 
such a noble stretch of the peculiar description of land re- 
quired as at St. Andrew’s or Westward Ho 1 and the Tor- 
quay Golf Club is but a modest association which has 
never achieved notoriety. 

“ You mustn’t expect anything great,” Mr. Mortimer 
warned his companion, while they were walking out to- 
wards Babbacombe together ; “ the greens are very fair, 
and there are some pretty little hazards ; but it isn’t a 
course for long drivers.” 

I’m quite sure that it wouldn’t be the course for me if 
it were,” answered Willie, laughinjg. “ I shall miss the 
ball altogether at first, shan’t I ? ” 

“ Yes, very likely ; but you’ll soon get into the knack of 
it. I’m not much of a performer myself, you know ; only 


272 


MARCIA, 


I’ve played a little in Scotland, and as I foresaw that I 
should be at Torquay for several weeks, off and on, I 
thought I had better try to keep myself in condition by 
joining the Golf Club. If I give you a stroke a hole, you 
ought to be able to make a match of it. A stroke is pretty 
heavy odds to allow with short distances like these, mind 
you. However, we’ll see how things go, and if it isn’t 
enough I can give you more.” 

Willie, who, to tell the truth, was a good deal more in- 
terested in his friend’s incidental admission that he meant 
to remain where he was for several weeks, than in the fair- 
ness of the proposed handicap, asked whether Torquay 
was a good place for yachts to lie. But Mortimer had 
come out to play golf, not to discuss his personal plans 
and proceedings. 

“ No ; beastly,” he answered briefly ; “ one wouldn’t 
think of stopping here if one hadn’t friends in the place. 
Now, I’ll tell you what it is, Brett : there are a hundred 
things that you ought to bear in mind every time that you 
get into position for a drive ; but the only important thing 
is to hit the ball clean, and you had better start by doing 
that the best way that you can. Keep your eye dead upon 
it, let the club swing back slowly, and don’t attempt to 
swipe. Stick to these rules and you’ll probably astonish 
yourself.” 

Golfers will perceive that this mentor was not without 
glimmerings of science ; for of course there can be no 
sounder advice than to hit the ball clean, just as there can 
be no sounder advice than to shoot a pheasant in the head 
instead of in the tail, and novices are less confused by. being 
told what they ought to do than by being instructed as to 
the best means of doing it. Still, when they had reached 
the little club-house, and when Willie had been supplied 
with the necessary equipment of driver, brassy, iron, short 
spoon, cleek and putter, as well as with a boy to carry 
these implements for him, he had naturally but a hazy idea 
as to the method of their employment. Mortimer led him 
up to the down, indicated the whereabouts of the first hole 
(which was invisible from the starting point), and told him 
to “ go straight for it.” The result was that he made a 
short, sharp, cricketing sort of stroke, thumped the ground 
hard and sent his ball about ten yards in the required 
direction. 


MARCIA. 273 

“ That’s what everybody does at first,” remarked Morti- 
mer placidly. “ I’ll just show you the way to drive.” 

Now, Mortimer, who had not learnt golf as a boy, and 
consequently had no chance of ever becoming a player, 
had acquired a totally unorthodox style which, neverthe- 
less, proved telling about once in three times, and which 
therefore gave him far tqo high an opinion of himself. On 
this occasion he hit the ball fairly, although he had no 
business to do so, and thus he not only swept it away out 
of sight, but buried it beneath a stone wall which inter- 
vened between the strikers and the hole. As, however, 
he did not know what a misfortune had overtaken him, he 
was proportionately complacent. 

“ That’s about the right line,” he remarked. “ Now 
you’ll have to play again. In the ordinary course of things 
you would be playing the ‘ odd,’ but as I’m giving you a 
stroke, you only play ‘ the like.’ The ball isn’t lying par- 
ticularly well, so you had better take your cleek. Hit as 
hard as you like ; you won’t go too far.” 

A cleek is a weapon with a comparatively short shaft 
and a polished steel head : it is more frequently made use 
of by beginners than by experts. Willie, obediently follow- 
ing the advice that had been given him, put his whole 
strength into his next stroke, and. notwithstanding that, 
as before, he wasted a large proportion of this upon mother 
earth, he was so far successful as to get well under his ball, 
which he sent some hundred yards on its way. 

“ That will do very well,” said Mortimer approvingly. 
“ If you can only manage to play your iron, your next 
stroke ought to land you on the green.” 

It is not every mature golfer who can make sure of play- 
ing his lofting-iron, which is the most difficult of all the 
clubs to use effectively ; but nothing gives such confidence 
as complete ignorance, and Willie, having been told what 
he ought to do, performed the unexpected feat of doing it 
— so that his quick wrist-stroke lifted the ball high into the 
air and deposited it close to the fluttering white flag which 
marked the hole. 

Mortimer only said, “ By Jove ! ” But he used more for- 
cible language than that when his own ball was discovered, 
wedged in between two stones of the wall which they now 
approached. He said that sort of thing was very hard 
lines and showed the nasty, tricky nature of the course 

18 


274 


Marcta, 


over which they were playing. “ As fair a drive as I ever 
made in my life — and then to get punished in this way ! I 
don’t mind legitimate difficulties ; but really it’s too bad to 
have hazards that no human being can get out of. Of 
course that gives you the hole ; because the only thing I 
can do is to lift and lose two strikes.” 

The hole was not necessarily lost yet ; but perhaps his 
annoyance caused him to lose it, for, after lifting his ball 
and aiming at it somewhat carelessly, he sent it back to 
very much the same place from which it had been taken. 
After that, he observed that it was not worth while to try 
again, and explained that his antagonist had won the first 
hole by sheer good luck. 

But his ruffled equanimity was restored after he had 
taken the second hole with perfect ease. This, being 
placed on the summit of a hill, beyond another wall and a 
clump of gorse-bushes, demanded a lofting stroke, which 
he delivered accurately, whereas Willie came to hopeless 
grief in the gorse, and had played “ six more ” before he 
extricated himself. 

Indeed, as the game proceeded, our hero began to feel 
that respect for it which the realization of genuine difficulty 
always commands. He did not do by any means badly, 
for failure did not exasperate him as it exasperates 
short-tempered men, and his eye and hand were accus- 
tomed to work together ; but he soon perceived that he 
was no match for Mortimer, who made plenty of mistakes, 
but whose blunders were less disastrous than his own, and 
who had, besides, the advantage of being acquainted with 
the ground. To be sure, he did not very much care whe- 
ther he won or lost. What he cared about a great deal 
more was to ascertain the true position of affairs as regard- 
ed this old school-fellow of his and Lady Evelyn Foljambe ; 
and golf, fortunately, is not a game which precludes inter- 
mittent conversation. While they were walking along, 
side by side, between the strokes, he learnt that Mortimer 
thought both Lady Wetherby and Lady Evelyn “ awfully 
nice people,” that he had become intimate with them during 
the preceding London season, that he was only at Tor- 
quay for the purpose of being near them, and that he was 
in the habit of seeing them every day. More than this no 
lover could be expected to reveal, and if the information 
thus frankly imparted was not wholly acceptable to Willie, 


MARCIA. 


275 


neither was it wholly the reverse, since it seemed to leave 
a loophole for hope. Was it not possible, after all, that 
this impending engagement might, as Archdale had hinted, 
be of Lady Wetherby’s contriving, and that neither of the 
young people were particularly keen about it. At any rate, 
it struck him as significant that his companion should be 
apparently unmoved by a circumstance which was begin- 
ning to cause him some personal disquietude. 

“ Do you think Lady Evelyn can have missed her way ? ” 
he asked at length ; for they had now finished the first 
round, which consists of nine holes. 

“ Oh, she knows the way well enough,” answered the 
other unconcernedly ; “ she’ll turn up beforedong, I expect. 
At least, if she doesn’t it’ll be because she has thought of 
something more amusing to do. Now, Brett, you must 
pull yourself together; you’re four holes down, and you 
can’t afford to lose many more.” 

In spite of this warning, Willie lost the next hole by 
what looked very like downright carelessness. The game 
upon which he was engaged might possess all the intrinsic 
merits under the sun ; but it was not possible for him to 
give his whole mind to it after having been threatened with 
such a disappointment, nor did he feel that his spirits 
would be very much lowered by the most ignominious of 
defeats. But before he could give further cause for just 
offence to his opponent (because nothing is so provoking 
as to play any game with a man who does not care to win 
it), the slim figure of a young lady, clad in a plain costume 
of brown cloth, was seen approaching over the brow of the 
hill, and that pleasing spectacle put quite another com- 
plexion upon the state of affairs. For although Willie did 
not mind being beaten, he naturally did not wish to make 
a ridiculous exhibition of himself under the eyes of the 
young lady in question. 

Unfortunately, that was just what he proceeded to do, 
notwithstanding — or more probably in consequence of — 
his determination to play his very best. Lady Evelyn 
drew near, but did not open her lips, knowing better than 
to speak to a player on his stroke, while Willie swung his 
club well back over his shoulder and delivered what would 
doubtless have been a fine drive if he had not inadvertent- 
ly taken his eye off the ball at the last moment. The sad 
consequence of that fatal error was that his club swished 


276 


MARCIA, 


harmlessly through the air, without touching anything, and 
that Mortimer burst into a shout of laughter, in which 
Lady Evelyn joined. 

Missing the globe ” at golf may be likened to “ catch- 
ing a crab ” in rowing. Either misfortune may, and some- 
times does, happen to veterans, and is inevitable in the case 
of novices ; but under no circumstances can the spectator 
of such calamities refrain from some merriment. 

Still, a man who is worth anything at all can always 
stand being laughed at, and Willie submitted with outward 
composure to the ridicule which he had earned. In his 
next effort he was a little, but only a little, more success- 
ful. This time he hit his ball as hard as could have been 
wished ; only, as he did not hit it quite in the right place, 
it skimmed along the ground, instead of rising into the air, 
and ended its career by striking a loose fragment of rock, 
from which it rebounded. What was additionally vexatious 
was that Mortimer took this opportunity to make the best 
stroke that he had made that afternoon, his ball soaring 
gracefully over stones, gorse-bushes and all other obstacles, 
and bounding on to the very verge of the hole. Lady 
Evelyn applauded, as in duty bound ; yet it seemed that 
her sympathies were where the sympathies of all true 
women ought to be — with the weaker side. 

“ Never mind,” said she to Willie in a low voice ; he 
won’t do that again for some time, you may be sure. Take 
it quite easy and you’ll beat him yet. How many holes is 
he up ? ” 

“ Six, I’m afraid,” answered Willie ruefully. “ He was 
five up just now, and of course he must take this one.’ 

It certainly looked as though he must ; but everyone 
who has instructed or watched beginners at golf, is aware 
that they occasionally perform miracles. To put the ball 
into the hole with a lofting-iron at a distance of over sixty 
yards is unquestionably a miraculous feat for a beginner, 
and how Willie achieved it he, for one, had not the most 
remote idea. Such as his stroke was, however, it gave him 
the hole ; for, since he was in in three and was receiving 
a stroke, his antagonist could do no more than halve it, 
and this Mortimer failed to do by making a short, angry 
“ putt ” which missed its aim. 

“ Well!” exclaimed the latter, as he walked away, “of 
all the outrageous flukes that ever I saw in my life ” 


MARCIA. 


277 


“ It was an awful fluke, I must admit,” said Willie apolo- 
getically. 

But Lady Evelyn would not allow that it had been any 
such thing. “ You played for the hole, I suppose, didn’t 
you ? ” she asked. “ You meant to go as near it as you 
could ? Very well then ; you did what you intended to do 
by magnificent play. I always understood that fluking 
meant doing something which you never intended to do. 

Now, whether this definition of fluking was or was not 
strictly accurate, it showed the bias of the speaker after a 
fashion which Willie cguld not but find encouraging, and 
indeed she presently declared in so many words that she 
wanted him to win. 

“ I am sure,” said she, that you are one of those people 
who are apt to fail through excess of modesty. Mr. Mor- 
timer doesn’t suffer from that disadvantage.” 

Mr. Mortimer just then suffered under the disadvantage 
of having driven his ball a long way off the line. He con- 
sequently had to walk after it, and thus opportunity was 
afforded to Lady Evelyn to say a few more words about 
him. He was wonderfully little spoilt by prosperity, she 
was pleased to remark. He could not fairly be called 
conceited, although he was upon pretty good terms with 
himself, and he bore chaff very good-humoredly. At the 
same time, he was rather too prone to take it for granted 
that every wish of his must needs be gratified ; so that his 
soul’s welfare was likely to be promoted by such occasional 
surprises as the loss of a game of golf. 

Did he look to see whether you were wearing that 
bracelet when he came?” asked Willie, glancing involun- 
tarily at his neighbor’s wrist. 

She laughed. “ Yes ; and he was mii^h astonished at 
not discovering it in its proper place. However, thanks 
to you, I didn’t have to confess that it was at the bottom 
of the sea. I told him that it was safely locked up some- 
where or other, and that I sometimes wore it.” 

“ I thought it was the peculiarity of bracelets debonheur 
that they were to be always worn,” said Willie. 

“ So did he, but I undeceived him. The theory is that 
you part with your happiness when you take off the brace- 
let ; only, as I have proved by experience that that isn’t 
the case, I feel myself in a position to snap my fingers at 
theories. ’ 


278 


MARCIA. 


This was pleasant hearing for Willie, who grew irration- 
ally light-hearted after listening to several more speeches 
of a like nature, and who played carefully and tolerably 
well when it was borne in upon him that Lady Evelyn 
sincerely wished him to succeed. If there were any ground 
for hope that as large a proportion as one per cent, of 
those who will do this modest narrative the honor to 
peruse it would take an intelligent interest in the details 
of a golf-match, these should be recorded as fully as they 
deserve to be \ but since, unhappily, British public opinion 
cannot yet be considered to be ripe for the appreciation of 
such particulars, it is perhaps best to state merely the bald 
fact that the combatants were all even when only three 
holes remained to be played. That that was an exciting 
state of things anybody will understand and believe. 

The first of these Mortimer won easily enough. Possibly 
Willie was unlucky, as Lady Evelyn averred that he was, in 
hitting a ball clean over the cliff into the sea ; but a per- 
fectly unprejudiced person might have said that he had no 
business to aim in the wrong direction. Anyhow, the 
consequence was that he was one down, with two to play ; 
and now he had to retrieve his fortunes as best he might. 

“ This,” observed Mortimer, as he placed himself in posi- 
tion for a fresh start, “is a longish carry. I shall go for 
it ; but if you’ll take my advice, Brett, you won’t attempt 
it. Your best plan will be to bear away to the left and try 
to get over in your second.” 

What he meant was that about a hundred and twenty 
yards ahead of them was a wall, close to which grew a tan- 
gled mass of brambles, and that any player who failed to 
clear that wall might count with some certainty upon 
Involving himself in irremediable grief. It was his fate to 
illustrate and exemplify the value of his counsel ; for, not- 
withstanding the strength that he put into his stroke, he 
did not give it quite sufficient elevation, and his ball 
dropped dead into the worst part of the hazard which it 
had been his design to surmount. After that, it was clearly 
his opponent’s duty to play a cautious game ; but Lady 
Evelyn, who was guided by feminine impetuosity, and had 
no sound golfing instincts, would not permit him to show 
the white feather. 

“ Don't be afraid,” she said ; “ be a man or a mouse ! 
I’m sure you can easily send a ball twice as far as that.” 


MARCIA, 


279 


Without feeling by any means' the same confidence in 
his capacity, Willie could not refuse to obey instructions 
conveyed in those terms. He aimed for the distant wall, 
hoping against hope that fortune might aid him ; and then, 
by pure accident, occurred one of those wonders which do 
occasionally reward the courage of the inexperienced. He 
had long arms ; he took the full swing which amateurs, as 
a general rule, are compelled regretfully to abandon ; he 
hit his ball exactly where he ought to have hit it and sent 
it whistling through space beyond wall and brambles and 
all other obstacles that intervened between it and its 
goal. 

“ Didn’t I tell you so ? ” exclaimed Lady Evelyn, clapping 
her hands. 

Well, there was no playing against that kind of thing. 
Mortimer got out of his trouble as well as could have been 
expected, but lost two strokes in the process, and was un- 
able to make up for lost ground by subsequent good play. 
So the last hole became the deciding one, and, under the 
circumstances, it was not surprising that both players 
started for it with perceptible nervousness. Both of them 
were over careful, and both encountered difficulties which 
might have been avoided with a little more audacity. 
Both, however, reached the putting-green with the expen- 
diture of an equal number of strokes, whereupon Mortimer, 
drawing in his breath, made a bold stroke and holed out. 
Willie, therefore, had two for the half and one for the 
match. He was fully fifteen yards from the hole ; it was 
unlikely that he would be able to put his ball in, and there 
was great danger of overrunning it. The by-standers 
remained silent and motionless ; only a slight smile curved 
Mortimer’s lips. Willie took plenty of time to think about 
it and then delivered his stroke. The ball rolled along the 
ground, straight enough, but very slowly — surely too 
slowly ! It reached the very brink of the hole, paused for 
the fraction of a second, then turned over once more and 
dropped in. 

“ Bravo ! ” exclaimed Lady Evelyn delightedly. “ I am 
so glad you have won ! You couldn’t possibly have played 
that better.” 

Mortimer may be excused if he could not conscientious- 
ly echo the above assertion ; for of course a putt which 
one stiff blade of grass might have diverted was not really 


28 o 


MARCIA. 


a good putt. But he took his beating in excellent part, 
and said he would have his revenge another day. 

“ Meanwhile, you are coming to Dartmouth with us to- 
morrow, aren’t you, Brett ? ” he asked. “ Be down at the 
harbor about eleven o’clock, and you’ll find the gig waiting 
for you at the steps. Now, Lady Evelyn, if you were dis- 
posed to be very kind, you would offer me a lift home in 
your pony-trap. It won’t hold more than one extra person, 
I’m afraid ; but I ordered a fly for you, Brett.” 

Somehow or other, Willie half expected Lady Evelyn to 
put her veto upon this unceremonious arrangement ; but 
she did not appear to resent it. They walked down to the 
road, where the little two-wheeled vehicle and the fly were 
waiting, and Mortimer jumped into the former without 
more ado. 

“ To-morrow morning, then,” she said, smiling and nod- 
ding over her shoulder at Willie, as she gathered up the 
reins and drove off at a brisk pace. 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

A DISAPPOINTING DAY. 

Falling in love is probably a universal experience, and, 
like most other human experiences, it has its advantages 
and disadvantages. Amongst the former can hardly be 
counted any quickening of the patient’s perceptions or any 
improvement in his or her judgment. To be in love is to 
believe that the person whom you love is not only more 
charming but also far better than the rest of our species — 
this, at all events, is the masculine point of view ; one is 
not quite so sure about the feminine — and never since 
Adam wooed Eve has a true lover thought so meanly of 
the object of his affections as to suspect her of merely 
amusing herself at his expense. That, no doubt, is an ac- 
cusation which true lovers are very fond of making ; but 
they never make it sincerely. 

Willie Brett, therefore, cheered himself on his homeward 
way with dreams in which hope predominated to an extent 
scarcely justified by the circumstances. He was not, of 
course, so vain as to imagine that Lady Evelyn had any- 


AIARCIA. 


281 

thing more than a moderate sort of friendly regard for 
him ; but what he did think was that she could not care 
very much about Mortimer. Could one speak of anybody 
whom one loved in the kindly, approving terms which she 
had employed in speaking of that young man ? Evidently 
not ; and quite as evidently, Lady Evelyn was not the 
girl to submit to dictation in the matter of choosing a hus- 
band. So that there seemed to be nothing out of the way 
in the conclusion that Lady Wetherby’s maternal solicitude 
was likely to be disappointed, and that, whatever other 
obstacles might bar the path of a diffident suitor, Morti- 
mer was not one of them. 

But the thoughts and wishes and motives of young 
women are past finding out, while, as for maternal solici- 
tude, it is a factor which ought to be reckoned with by 
every mother’s son. If Willie did not realize this, it was 
perhaps because he had for so long been virtually an or- 
phan. When he reached Mrs. Archdale’s villa he found 
that he had still a mother who was disposed to claim all 
the rights belonging to her position. For Marcia was not 
in the best of humors that afternoon, and her opinion was 
that she had been treated with scant courtesy. 

“ Will you have some tea ? ” she asked, as he entered the 
drawing-room. “ I didn’t expect to see you back before din- 
ner time, if then. Laura Wetherby has just been here, and 
she gave me to understand that they had taken possession 
of you for the day. Not very considerate of them, I think, 
when they knew that you only arrived last night ; but I 
suppose it is natural that you should prefer being with 
them to spending a dull afternoon with me.” 

Willie could only hang his head penitently and murmur 
that he was very sorry. He was too scrupulously truthful 
to disclaim the preference attributed to him, but he said 
he had not really meant to be away all day. He had 
merely gone to call at Malton Lodge, and had been per- 
suaded to stay to luncheon, and then he had been asked 
to play a game of golf with his old school-fellow, Mortimer. 

“ And with that girl, I suppose ? ” asked Marcia, sharply. 

“ Oh no. Lady Evelyn didn’t play,” answered Willie, 
“ slie only looked on for part of the time.” 

Marcia snorted. “ I think that girl has been very 
badly brought up,” she remarked presently. “ Laura 
allows her to do exactly as she pleases, and I don’t think 


282 


MARCIA. 


I ever met anybody with quite such disagreeable manners. 

I can’t understand people calling her pretty, can you ? ” 

Willie was bound to confess that he could understand 
it ; whereupon Marcia snorted again. And now he had to 
make the still more awkward confession that he had prom- 
ised to sail over to Dartmouth on the morrow in Morti- 
mer’s yacht, accompanied by the badly-mannered girl and 
her injudicious mother. 

Then there was a fine fuss. Marcia told him that if he 
intended to be absent all day and every day he had much 
better go to Blaydon at once. There at least he would be 
able to shoot partridges, which would be a more whole- 
some and dignified kind of sport than acting as a decoy 
duck — for he might rest assured that it was in that capa- 
city that Lady Evelyn proposed to make use of him. As 
for herself, she ought not, she supposed, to wonder that 
he no longer cared to be with her ; it was natural, no 
doubt, and she must bear it; only his indifference would 
be a little less hard to bear if he were out of sight. To 
the deep consternation of the culprit, who, as has been 
mentioned, was but imperfectly acquainted with the pecu- 
liarities of the opposite sex, she ended by bursting into a 
flood of tears. 

The sight of her distress filled him with remorse. He 
did not think her unreasonable ; on the contrary, he felt 
that it was he who had been abominably selfish and 
thoughtless, and he said so. He would, of course, give up 
the Dartmouth expedition ; in fact, his impulse at the mo- 
ment was to declare that he would give up anything if 
she would only stop crying. 

Fortunately, she did not take advantage of his weakness 
and alarm, the full measure of which she may not have 
conjectured. She only saw that he was repentant, that 
his neglect of her had not been caused by any lack of 
natural affection, and that fie -was very anxious to make 
friends again. That being so, she dried her eyes and 
smiled and met him half-way, as women, to give them 
their due, are generally ready to do. It is, after all, no 
fault of theirs that nine out of ten of them are so consti- 
tuted as to enjoy a quarrel, whereas nine out of ten of us 
dislike nothing in the world so much. 

“ You mustn’t take me so literally, Willie,” she said, 
holding his hand in hers. “ I was upset and worried — 


MARCIA. 


283 


things happen every day which upset and worry me — and 
I suppose I fell foul of you because you chanced to come 
in before I had had time to recover myself. I don’t really 
believe that you care more for those people than you do 
for me. And you are to go to Dartmouth with them to- 
morrow, please. Yes ; I insist upon it! lam not going 
to have them laughing at you for being tied to my apron- 
string.” 

In the end it was agreed that he should adhere to his 
engagement. He had been honestly willing to abandon 
it, but he would have been a very extraordinary specimen of 
humanity if he had not been relieved by the rejection of his 
offer. He could not make a confidant of his mother, because 
he saw that there was no hope of obtaining her sympathy. 
She seemed, unhappily, to have taken a prejudice against 
Lady Evelyn, and he had sense enough to be aware that 
reason never wins the day against prejudice. However, 
he made his peace without any further allusion to the sub- 
ject of their contention, which indeed she speedily forgot ; 
so that before he went upstairs to dress for dinner he had 
heard a good deal more about his step-father’s shortcom- 
ings, and had been embraced and profusely thanked in re- 
turn for a couple of bank-notes which he produced from his 
pocket. Bank-notes, luckily, cannot be traced back to 
their donor ; but even if it had been a question of a cheque, 
Willie could have written one unhesitatingly. Rightly or 
wrongly, he conceived that his mother was fully entitled to 
any aid that he could give her ; nor did he doubt the 
truth of her assertion that it was not she who had made 
ducks and drakes of her own resources. Still he was not 
quite so incensed against Archdale as he might have been 
if his mind had not been preoccupied with other thoughts. 
Archdale appeared to have behaved badly, and would 
doubtless continue to behave badly ; but there was no help 
for that. What was less certain and considerably more 
interesting was the question of how Lady Evelyn Foljambe 
intended to behave. 

On tne ensuing morning he walked down to the harbor, 
with some hope of arriving at a solution of that doubtful 
point before the day should be at an end. And perhaps 
it was because Lady Evelyn and her mother, who drove up 
just as he reached the steps, greeted him in such a friendly 
fashion, or perhaps it was only because the weather was 


284 


MARCtA, 


so bright and sunny, with a nice sailing breeze blowing off 
the land, that he felt unwontedly sanguine and light- 
hearted. 

Lady Evelyn, too, seemed to be in high spirits. We 
are going to have a perfectly glorious day,” she declared. 
“ After all, one does have some good days even in Torquay, 
and though I never could understand the fun of yachting, 
I do enjoy an occasional sail in the Albatross — that is, 
when one is lucky enough to have the right people on 
board,” she added, with a glance at Willie which, if it meant 
anything, must surely have meant that he was one of the 
right people — possibly also that Mr. Mortimer was not. 

That may very likely have been the impression that she 
intended to convey ; but whether her true sentiments were 
such as were implied therein was quite another question. 
For no sooner had she set foot on the deck of the Albatross^ 
a smart hundred-and-thirty-ton yawl, flying the white 
Squadron ensign, than she began to devote her whole at- 
tention to the fortunate owner of that vessel, and seemed 
to have suddenly forgotten that there was ’anybody else in 
the vicinity. 

“ I shall go below until we have got under way,” said 
Lady Wetherby decisively ; “ I don’t want to have my 
head knocked off.” 

Lady Evelyn, perhaps, saw no reason to dread that fatal- 
ity, or was willing to take the risk of it. She remained 
where she was, chatting with Mortimer about things and 
people utterly unknown to Willie, while the yacht was 
released from her moorings and glided past the pier-head 
under mizen and jib. She had to duck when the mainsail 
was hoisted and the heavy boom swung over; but she 
evidently knew enough about nautical matters to be able 
to take care of herself, and indeed she presently showed 
that she, at any rate, had full confidence in her own sea- 
manship. 

“ Now, Parkins,” said she, turning to the skipper, “ I’m 
going to steer.” 

“ If you please, my lady,” answered Parkins, resigning 
the tiller with a smothered sigh. 

He looked so depressed as he moved forward and passed 
Willie that the latter, though he did not feel particularly 
merry at the moment, could not help laughing. “You 
don’t put much faith in your substitute, do you ? ” he 
asked. 


MARCIA. 


28s 


“ Oh, we can’t come to no harm, sir,” answered the man ; 
“ only I wish her ladyship could have waited a bit longer. 
You see, there’s bound to be a lot of gentlemen staring 
out of them there club windows, and I don’t know but what 
they might think we was all intoxicated.” 

It must be confessed that the course pursued by the 
Albatross was somewhat erratic, and that she did not ap- 
pear to be making quite the most of a fair wind. But perhaps 
her owner was in no desperate hurry to reach his destina- 
tion, and certainly he was indifferent to the possible cen- 
sures of the club critics. He sat upon the bulwarks, with 
his hands in his pockets, swinging one leg, while he kept 
up an unflagging conversation with Lady Evelyn, frag- 
ments of which reached the ears of the despised third 
person. Their talk, so far as he could gather, related 
entirely to royalties and dukes and duchesses and other 
grandees ; it was not, perhaps, exactly the kind of talk in 
which lovers are wont to indulge ; yet it was of a nature 
to make a humble lieutenant of infantry realize how very 
far he was removed from their coterie. After a time Lady 
Wetherby reappeared, and he had to get a chair for her 
and make her comfortable, and listen, rather inattentively, 
to her comments upon the news contained in the Morning 
Post^ which she had brought on board with her. Not until 
they were off Berry Head and luncheon was over was any 
excuse given him for approaching Lady Evelyn, and by 
that time he was so thoroughly dispirited that it was she 
who had to take the initiative. When they left the main 
cabin, Mortimer went forward to give some order or other, 
and then it was that our hero’s presence was at length re- 
cognized by the person who was alone responsible for it. 

How bored you look ! ” Lady Evelyn said, as she 
moved astern and beckoned to him to join her, her mother 
having returned to a wicker chair and the Morning Post. 
“ Don’t you like yachting ? ” 

“ It all depends,” answered Willie candidly ; I daresay 
I should enjoy it well enough if I had a yacht of my own, 
and if — if I could choose my company.” 

“ That is truly flattering to the present company. Well, 
I don’t think I care very much about yachting in anybody’s 
company. It can’t be called sport ; all that can be said for 
it is that it’s a shade better than going out for a constitu- 
tional. I’d rather be hunting, wouldn’t you? ” 


286 


MARCIA. 


This, it may be conjectured, was a leading observation ; 
for Lady Evelyn had seen enough of her companion to 
know what his tastes were, and enough of men in general 
to be aware that it is useless to try and make them talk 
upon subjects in which they are not interested. Be that as 
it may, she very soon brought this young man to a happier 
frame of mind, and found him quite as good an authority 
upon the points of a horse as Mortimer perhaps was upon 
the domestic affairs of duchesses. 

And Mortimer was apparently troubled by no ignoble 
sentiments of envy or jealousy. When he sauntered aft 
and perceived that he had been replaced, he sat down con- 
tentedly beside Lady Wetherby, making no attempt to 
interrupt a colloquy which to one of those concerned in it 
was so delightful. Willie knew, or thought he knew, per- 
fectly well that the girl whom he loved did not care a pin 
for him ; but he also knew, or thought he knew, that she 
did not care a pin for his rival. That was as much as he 
could expect or hope for. To be permitted to sit by her 
side, to watch her face and to hear her voice — this was 
sufficient for him in the early stage of the malady with 
which he was afflicted. What if she did speak of nothing 
but protracted runs and the pedigree of hounds and the 
joys of cub-hunting, which were denied to her ? It was, at 
any rate, to him that she addressed her remarks, not to the 
other fellow. 

But the other fellow’s turn came in due time ; possibly 
the other fellow may have been comfortably aware that it 
would come. The pretty little land-locked port of Dart- 
mouth was made early in the afternoon ; the anchor rattled 
down, the gig was lowered, and Mortimer remarked that 
there would be heaps of time for a walk before taking the 
train back to Torquay. The party, on being set ashore, 
naturally headed, as everybody who lands at Dartmouth 
does, for the wooded promontory on which the quaint old 
church of St. Petrox stands ; and doubtless it was equally 
natural — at all events, it so fell out — that Mortimer and 
Lady Evelyn should lead the way, Willie being thus once 
more relegated to the charms of Lady Wetherby’s society. 

Lady Wetherby had a kind heart and an ample stock of 
common-sense, and about as much perspicacity as is re- 
quired for the recognition of the obvious. She therefore 
thought it only right to utter a few words of admonition for 


MARCIA, 


287 


the benefit of her young friend, the expression of whose 
features had told its own tale to her during the previous 
hour. As she ambled beside him along the shady footpath 
she began, with transparent diplomacy, by deploring the 
change which had come over girls in the course of the last 
twenty years. 

“ I suppose that since the world began there must always 
have been flirts,” she said ; “ but I don’t think that flirta- 
tion was quite such a common, matter-of-course thing in my 
day as it is now. The men, no doubt, are chiefly to blame. 
They don’t wish to be taken seriously ; they only want to 
amuse themselves, and the girls, who very soon find that 
out, follow suit and amuse themselves too. So perhaps it’s 
as broad as it’s long, and no hearts are broken when both 
sides play the game. But, as I always tell Evelyn, it does 
occasionally happen that a man is really in earnest, and then 
it is very wrong to trifle with him.” 

“ Of course I know nothing about it,” said Willie gravely ; 
“ but I shouldn’t have thought that Lady Evelyn was a 
flirt.” 

“ Oh, I’m quite sure she doesn’t mean to be,” her mother 
declared ; “ but she is accustomed to receiving a good deal 
of attention, and perhaps she doesn’t understand the differ- 
ence between the men whom she meets in London and 
the men who may happen to turn up elsewhere. She says 
and does things which really mean nothing at all, and some- 
times I am afraid that they may be taken as — as meaning 
something you know.” 

Nothing could have been more explicit. Willie appre- 
ciated the kindly compassion which had prompted this warn- 
ing, although it came too late in the day to be of any service 
to him. He was only one of the men who had “ happened 
to turn up elsewhere,” and his chances, no doubt, were 
infinitesimal ; still, such as they were, he must needs cling 
to them so long as the shadow of a shade of hope remained. 

“ Is Mortimer one of the London men who don’t wish 
to be taken seriously.? ” he ventured to inquire. 

“ Upon my word I can’t tell you,” answered Lady 
Wetherby, laughing. I think he is serious, and I don’t 
mind confessing that I hope he is. From my point of view 
he is unexceptionable ; but my point of view may not be 
Evelyn’s, and I wouldn’t for the world urge her to act 
against hei inclinations. As far as I can judge, she likes 


288 


MARCIA, 


him : at all events, I am tolerably certain that there is 
nobody else whom she likes better.” 

Willie remained silent. After all, he had been told no 
more than he already knew ; yet there is a difference 
between being aware of a fact and hearing it stated in plain 
Words, so that he did not greatly enjoy the remainder of 
his walk. Lady Wetherby took charge of him until it was 
over — an arrangement which seemed to meet the approval 
of the other couple. What she discoursed about while 
they paced slowly through the woods and admired the 
prospect, and then retraced their steps to the landing-stage, 
whence they crossed by ferry to the Kingswear station, he 
scarcely knew; but he had a general impression that she 
meant to be kind and was sorry for him. In the train, 
both Lady Wetherby and Mortimer fell asleep — fancy fall- 
ing asleep at such a time ! — but Lady Evelyn, who was 
gazing out of the window at the darkening landscape, 
responded only by monosyllables to the few remarks which 
Willie made so bold to address to her, and it was evident 
that, whatever the subject of her thoughts might be, she 
was not thinking about him. After a time he desisted from 
troubling her. It was not until they were nearing Torquay 
that she took his breath away by leaning forward and say- 
ing abruptly : 

“ It has been a horrid day, hasn’t it ? ” 

“ I didn’t know it had,” answered Willie stupidly ; — “ I 
— I thought it had been a great success.” 

“ So do they,” she returned, indicating the two sleepers 
with a slightly disdainful gesture. I didn’t think so ; but 
then I suppose I am rather hard to please. I daresay it’s 
all right, and it doesn’t much signify if it’s all wrong,” she 
added, throwing herself back again into her corner. 

Torquay was reached and Lady Wetherby and Mortimer 
were wide awake before he could ask her to explain herself ; 
but while he was wending his solitary way homewards her 
meaning seemed to become clear to him. She had accepted 
a man whom she didn’t love and she was already beginning 
to repent of her folly ; that much might be surmised. But 
why she had accepted the man, and whether her repentance 
would prove lasting, and what prospect there was of her 
adhering to a hastily formed engagement — these were 
questions which sufficed to keep a straightforward and 
bewildered youth awake more than half the night through. 


MAJ?CIA, 


289 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

WILLIE GOES TO CHURCH. 

Willie was mistaken in supposing that Lady Evelyn had 
accepted Mortimer’s heart and hand. One excellent reason 
— possibly the only one — why she had not done so was that 
those priceless possessions had not yet been offered to her. 
However, she knew that she could have the refusal of them 
when she pleased, that she would be told as much ere long, 
and indeed that she had only escaped being told as much 
that very afternoon by some exercise of preventive skill. 
Evelyn Foljambe’s ideas with regard to matrimony were 
those which commonly prevail amongst girls of her class 
and are not so very rare in other classes. At the age of 
fifteen or sixteen she had followed the dictates of human 
nature, dreaming of some more or less impossible hero, for 
whose sake, when' the time should come, she would be will- 
ing to brave poverty and other afflictions ; but a short 
experience of the realities of fashionable life had cured all 
that. She had met a great many men, and not one of them 
had been in the least heroic ; the girls of her acquaintance 
had been heartless and sceptical, or at all events had talked 
as though they were so ; even her mother had always 
seemed to regard marriage as quite an un romantic affair. 
The girls who were spoken of as having married well were 
those who had acquired a title or a fortune ; the few who 
had married for love were considered to have made fools 
of themselves, and indeed she had had opportunities of 
•observing that the latter not unfrequently ended by con- 
curring in the general verdict upon their conduct. For her 
own part, she naturally judged of men as she had found 
them ; she did not believe that any man would ever break 
his heart on her account, and she thought that if she met 
one whose social standing was such as to command the 
approval of her family, whose character was tolerably good, 
whose personal appearance was not unpleasing, and who 


290 


MARCIA. 


seemed to be as much attached to her as it is within the 
range of masculine capacity to be attached to anybody, she 
would be extremely unwise to refuse him. As Mr. Mortimer 
fulfilled all those conditions, it was difficult to say why she 
had taken such trouble to keep him at bay during that 
afternoon walk, or why she had been so petulant and 
dispirited on the way home. She herself could not answer 
the question in any way that was agreeable to her, and a 
lecture which she received the next morning from her 
mother did not serve to put her in any better conceit with 
herself. 

“ Evelyn dear,” Lady Wetherby began, assuming that 
kindly, serious demeanor which mothers always assume 
when they are a little bit afraid of their daughters, “ I want 
to speak to you about young Brett. Of course I know that 
you mean no harm ; but he may not understand — most 
likely he doesn’t — and I think you ought to be a little more 
careful. He never took his eyes off you and Mr. Mortimer 
while he was walking with me yesterday.” . 

“ Well,” said Lady Evelyn rather flippantly, “ I suppose 
his eyes are his own and he can use them as he pleases.” 

“ Yes ; but you cannot wish him to use them in that way. 
And — and I doubt whether Mr. Mortimer would wish it 
either.” 

“ Oh, I don’t mind,” Lady Evelyn declared. “ As for 
Mr. Mortimer, I haven’t reached the point of consulting 
his wishes upon such subjects yet, and I daresay I never 
shall.” 

“ Probably you will not if you go on trifling with him. 
Patient as he is, you may exhaust his patience ; and then, 
my dear, I think you will be sorry. You know as well as 
I do — sometimes it seems to me that you know a great deal 
better — how few men there are who are so nice in every 
way as Mr. Mortimer ; but one thing I know perhaps a 
little better than you do, because I am so much older, and 
that is that all men get over a disappointment far more 
easily than we do.” 

“ I haven’t a doubt of it, mamma ; but I don’t know of 
anything that would disappoint me particularly just at 
present, except being forbidden to speak to poor Mr. Brett 
again. And I really don’t quite understand what I am 
being scolded about.” 

I am not scolding you, dear,” Lady Wetherby answered, 
“ I am only warning you. I have never tried, and I never 


MARCIA. 


291 


will tiy, to decide your fate for you ; but I confess that I 
do like Mr. Mortimer, and I hoped bom what I had seen 
that you liked him too.” 

“ Oh, he is very well off and pretty well-behaved and not 
bad-looking,” said the girl. “ The same description applies 
to Mr. Brett, for that matter.” 

“ Not altogether,” observed her mother gently. “ Mr. 
Brett may be a rich man one of these days, but his prospects 
are not certain, I believe ; and then, although I don’t mean 
to say that he hasn’t all the feelings of a gentleman, still 
he isn’t — well — exactly in the same position as Mr. Morti- 
mer, you know.” 

“ I see,” said Lady Evelyn ; and after a pause, “ I’ll 
endeavor to put him back into his proper position if he 
seems to be in danger of forgetting it, then. Meanwhile, 
I can’t very well prevent him from looking at me, unless 
you forbid him the house.” 

Lady Wetherby did not say much more. Her daughter 
often puzzled her ; for she was a very simple sort of woman, 
to whom the problems of life had always presented them- 
selves in their simplest guise. She thought that Lady 
Evelyn was fond of Mortimer and would marry him ; she 
was not at all afraid that the girl would become too fond 
of Willie Brett — only, for the poor young fellow’s sake, 
she wished to nip a possible flirtation in the bud. And 
she was placidly persuaded that she had done so by means 
of the above remarks. As for adopting so extreme a 
measure as forbidding him her house, that of course was 
merely a joke. 

However, whether by accident or design, she did not 
invite Willie to her house for several days, and since he 
was not asked, he remained away. He could not have 
adopted a more effectual method of quickening the interest 
which Lady Evelyn felt in him. She had an impression 
that he, as well as her mother, had disapproved of the 
manner in which she had behaved on board the yacht, and 
that he was absenting himself by way of giving expression 
to his disapproval. Now this was both impertinent and 
unjust on his part ; because, in the first place, her be- 
havior was no concern of his, and, in the second, she 
could conscientiously say that on that occasion it had been 
in all respects what it ought to have been. She wished, 
therefore, that he would be good enough to call^ so that 


292 


MARCIA, 


she might have the chance of giving him the snubbing that 
he deserved. 

But the days passed on and he made no sign, and no- 
body seemed to wonder what had become of him. Some 
friends came to stay in the house, which enabled her to 
avoid tete-d-tete interviews with Mortimer, who accepted 
that temporary deprivation good-humoredly enough. Once 
she caught a glimpse of Willie in the distance. He was 
walking between his mother and his little half-sister, and 
looked somewhat dejected, she thought. For some reason 
or other, that momentary view of him brought about a 
change in her feelings, and it occurred to her that perhaps, 
instead of being so presumptuous as to sit in judgment 
upon her, he was merely hurt by something that she had 
said or done. If so, it was surely her duty to take an 
early occasion of explaining that she was innocent of hav- 
ing intentionally given him any cause for offence. 

The next day being Sunday, Lady Evelyn surprised the 
assembled company at luncheon by announcing casually 
that she was going to church in the evening. 

“ But, my dear child,” remonstrated Lady Wetherby, 
who sometimes went to church in the afternoon, but had a 
vague idea that the evening services were intended for the 
poorer classes, “ how will you manage about dinner? You 
can’t be home by eight o’clock, can you ? ” 

“ Oh, no : I don’t suppose I shall be back much before a 
quarter to nine,” answered the girl calmly ; “ but it doesn’t 
matter. If one dish is kept warm for me, that will do 
perfectly well.” 

Lady Evelyn was allQwed to take her own way in most 
things. The sun was just setting as she entered a certain 
church in the town, and as she settled herself in her place 
she saw in front of her precisely what she had expected to 
see, namely, the back of Willie Brett’s closely-cropped 
head. For indeed he had told her that he was fond of 
good music, and was consequently in the habit of attend- 
ing the evening services at that particular place of worship. 

It may be hoped that she said her prayers. At all events, 
she enjoyed the music, and if she did not derive much 
profit from the sermon, no doubt that was because it was 
absolutely necessary for her to go through a careful re- 
hearsal of the interview which she foresaw would follow it. 
That Mr, Brett was alone and would walk home with her 


MARCIA, 


293 


she was convinced, and this shows the disadvantage (it is 
more than outweighed by tlie advantage, but that is neither 
here nor there) of separating the sexes in church. For 
when the congregation dispersed and Lady Evelyn, who 
had measured her distance nicely, stepped up to the side 
of the unsuspecting young officer, it was rather discon- 
certing to find that Miss Flossie Archdale had already 
secured possession of his right hand. Flossie, to be sure, 
was delighted to see her and embraced her affectionately ; 
but there was no great consolation in that. As for Willie, 
he also was probably delighted, although he did not look 
so. He took off his hat and seemed to be a trifle embar- 
rassed, and saicf — 

“ I thought you never went to church in the evening.” 

“ I am thinking of turning over a new leaf,” answered 
Lady Evelyn gravely. “ If other people can put up with 
a tepid dinner, why shouldn’t I? Your church is very 
nice indeed. I presume from your frequenting it^that you 
belong to the Ritualistic persuasion, and are therefore 
addicted to mortifying the flesh. Might one ask why you 
haven’t done penance by calling upon us all this long 
time ? ” 

“ Ought I to have called? I didn’t know,” replied that 
stupid young man, who, not having had time to collect his 
wits, said the first thing that came into his head. 

Assuredly he did not intend to be ungracious ; yet his 
words sounded so to one who was perhaps on the look- 
out for ungraciousness, and by ill-luck he was unable to 
retrieve the false step that he had made, for before he 
could speak again the group was joined by Mr. Mortimer. 

“ How are you, Brett ? ” said that good-natured fellow. 
“ When are you going to give me my revenge at golf? 
You said you were going to church. Lady Evelyn, so I 
thought I’d go too. Jolly sort of service — plenty of sing- 
ing and flowers and candles and all that. First-rate vol- 
untary too; only you wouldn’t stop to listen to it.” 

If it had not been quite dark, Willie would have seen 
Lady Evelyn frown impatiently and color. As it was, he 
only heard her say, in a tone of pleased surprise, “ Oh, is 
that you ? How fortunate ! Now you can see me home. 
I was going to victimize Mr. Brett, who, I am sure, will be 
grateful to be released. Good-night, Mr. Brett. Good- 
night, Flossie,” 


294 


MARCIA, 


She bent down and kissed the child, gave Willie a little 
nod, and, turning up a side street, was soon out of sight, 
together with her escort 

“ I wish Mr. Mortimer would go away,” was Flossie's 
pertinent remark. “ Lady Evelyn hasn’t been half so 
nice since he has been here, and she never takes me out 
for walks now.” 

“ I don’t think he will go away just yet, Flossie,” an- 
swered the young man gloomily. “ Saving your presence, 
I shouldn’t wonder if Lady Evelyn liked walking with him 
better than walking with you.” 

Of course there could be no sort of question as to that. 
The engagement might not yet be formally announced ; 
but that it existed was evident enough. She had assumed 
without hesitation that Mortimer would be glad to accom- 
pany her to the top of the hill on which she resided, 
although he did not live there himself, and would have to 
come all the way down again ; she had not even called him 
“ Mr. Mortimer,” but had addressed him as “ you ” — a very 
ominous sign. Well, there was nothing to be astonished 
at in that, nor anything to grumble about ; only if Morti- 
mer was both unable and unwilling to leave Torquay, 
somebody else was neither the one nor the other. In truth 
there seemed to be nothing for it but to go away and court 
oblivion. Willie was quite aware that he had no right to 
feel sore ; but that did not prevent him from feeling sore, 
or from shrinking from the misery of seeing the girl whom 
he loved claimed by another man. Before the evening 
was over he found himself alone with his mother, Archdale 
having, in accordance with what appeared to be an estab- 
lished custom, strolled down to the club to smoke a cigar 
in the company of sundry choice spirits. 

“ I think,” said he, taking advantage of this opportunity, 
“ I may as well pay my visit to Blaydon at once and get it 
done. Then perhaps, if you cared to have me, I might 
come back here for Christmas.” 

“ I know very well what ihat means,” returned Marcia. 
“ Flossie told me that you met Evelyn Foljambe at church 
this evening, and of course she snubbed you, and you were 
quite astonished at her want of taste, and now you are 
going to leave Torquay by way of punishing her. Unfor- 
tunately you will not punish her, because she has made all 
the use of you that she ever expected to make ; you will 


MARCIA. 


295 


only punish me. Oh, what a pity it is that one sees 
nothing clearly until it is too late ! I love you, whereas 
that cold-blooded girl, who isn’t even attractive, loves no- 
body except herself. But it is useless to tell you that, for 
you won’t believe it.” 

“ I do believe that you care for me, mother,” answered 
Willie. He was not prepared to affirm that he believed in 
Lady Evelyn’s cold-bloodedness, not did he wish to speak 
about her at all. 

“ Then it is you who do not care for me,” Marcia 
rejoined. You have seen what my life is ; you can’t help 
knowing that all the cares and anxieties of the household 
fall upon my shoulders ; you can’t help knowing that I am 
lonely and wretched, and that my only happiness is to have 
you with me. Yet you propose to desert me, and you 
don’t so much as pretend that there is any reason for your 
desertion. It is all in the course of nature, I suppose; 
when once birds are fledged they won’t return to the nest. 
But it does seem to me that the course of nature is horribly 
cruel.” 

Fledged birds, as everybody knows, are cast upon their 
own resources by their parents, and Willie might have 
retorted that his mother had treated him after the fashion 
adopted by that least maternal of birds, the cuckoo ; but 
his inclination at the moment was rather to rejoice in this 
tardy display of affection than to murmur at the years of 
neglect which had preceded it, and he answered simply — 

“ If you really wish me to stay. I’ll stay. I shall have 
to go to Blaydon sooner or later ; but it needn’t be yet.” 

“ You must do as you please,” returned his mother 
rather ungratefully. “ Of course it will make all the differ- 
ence to me whether you are with me or not ; but perhaps 
it would be better for you to go away than to remain with 
any hope of winning that girl. It is true that she isn’t 
worth winning if you only knew it ! ” 

Willie resolutely declined to enter upon the question of 
Lady Evelyn’s worth. He contented himself with declaring 
that he did not cherish any such hopes as were attributed 
to him — which was true enough— and assuring his mother 
that she might always count upon his presence when she 
desired it. 

That seemed to satisfy her. As a matter of fact, she 
did love her son and longed to possess his whole heart, 


296 


MARCIA. 


though she was not without a glimmering consciousness of 
the absurdity of such a longing. She did not love him 
well enough to wish for his happiness rather than her own, 
because it was out of her power to love anyone in that 
way ; but she understood that he was making something 
of a sacrifice for her sake, which caused her to love him the 
more. That his happiness would be insured in the impos- 
sible event of Lady Evelyn’s responding to his calf-love she 
did not for a moment believe. Lady Evelyn, in her 
opinion, was a detestable young woman, and what mother 
could wish her son to fall into the clutches of a detestable 
young woman? 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 

SIR GEORGE IS VERY FIRM. 

It is a pity that our defective memory prevents us from 
realizing how much we understood in our childhood. Most 
of us are disposed to assume that children know no more 
than we are pleased to tell them, and thus we debar our- 
selves from the sympathy of the most sympathetic class in 
the community. Flossie Archdale, however, was what is 
somewhat inappropriately, termed an “old-fashioned” 
child — that is to say, she had associated almost exclusively 
with her seniors — so that Willie was not very much aston- 
ished to find that she fully appreciated the nature of his 
position. 

“ I’m so glad you’re not going away,” she said to him 
in the most matter-of-course tone in the world. “ Lady 
Evelyn doesn’t really like Mr. Mortimer half as well as she 
likes you — I know she doesn’t, because I asked her. But, 
if you left Torquay now, she would think you didn’t like 
her at all.” 

This acute student of men and things further opined that 
in the abstract there could be no sort of comparison be- 
tween Mr. Mortimer and her half-brother, the advantages 
possessed by the former being solely due to the facts that 
he had been first in the field and that he was supported by 
Lady Wetherby. She recommended Willie to call without 
delay at Malton Lodge, and although he laughed at her, 


MARCIA. 


297 


telling her that she was talking about matters beyond the 
comprehension of little girls, he neither spurned her parti- 
sanship nor despised her counsel. After all, he did owe 
Lady Wetherby a visit. So, one afternoon, he performed 
the duty required of him by social usages, and was rewarded 
by hearing that their ladyships had gone out sailing with 
Mr. Mortimer. 

He handed his card to the butler and walked away, feel- 
ing a good deal more despondent than the circumstances 
warranted. That the ladies should be yachting on a fine 
afternoon was not very surprising or very significant; but 
it sounded to him like an intimation that he might *have 
spared himself the trouble of calling upon them. Every- 
thing, no doubt, was settled, everything had probably been 
settled long ago ; and what could be more ridiculous than 
to imagine that an infant like Flossie was in the secret of 
Lady Evelyn’s preferences? Well, he had never been 
sanguine, nor had he ever had any excuse for being so. 
Through no fault of his own a heavy affliction had fallen 
upon him ; but he said to himself, as he walked away, that 
he would bear it like a man. As a general rule, irremedi- 
able afflictions are bravely borne for the simple reason that 
they must be borne ; people who have gone blind or who 
have lost a limb do not sit in the corner and sob, because 
it is obvious that such behavior cannot better their position, 
while it is a source of annoyance to those about them. 
Willie reminded himself that success in love is not the only 
kind of success which lends brightness to existence ; he 
had his profession and the prospect of many glorious and 
exciting moments when hounds were running; he had 
health and a sufficient income and a few good friends. A 
man who refuses to be satisfied with so many blessings must 
be unreasonably exacting ; but the truth is, that a man who 
is in love is always unreasonably exacting, and our poor hero 
could get no farther than to resolve that at least he would not 
whimper over his sorrows. And if these were likely to be 
rendered rather more acute by this enforced lingering upon 
the scene of his discomfiture, there was no help for that. 
It was something to feel that his presence alleviated the 
hardships of his mother’s lot, and apparently there was no 
great danger of his being often called upon to walk in the 
triumphal procession of his rival. 

Pie had therefore quite made up his mind to suffer in 
silence, when he received a letter from his uncle, which not 


298 


MARCIA, 


only offered him a loophole for escape, but seemed to make 
it imperative that he should avail himself thereof. 

“ Your aunt,” wrote Sir George, “ wishes me to say that 
she would be grateful to you if you could come to us at 
once. She has been, and still is, seriously — though I trust 
not dangerously — ill, and I hope you will agree with me 
that the wishes of an invalid of her age are not to be lightly 
disregarded. I do not ask that you should stay long with 
us ; I only beg in her name as well as my own, that you 
should pay your visit to us now, instead of later in the 
year, and I may tell you that the doctors are unanimous 
in assuring me that your aunt’s recovery depends to a great 
extent upon your consenting to oblige us. She is in a very 
low, nervous condition, I am sorry to say ; otherwise I 
should not have requested you to alter your plans on our 
account.” 

There was no resisting that. Lady Brett’s illness might 
not be of a very alarming character, but then again it might 
be, and in any case it would be rather unfeeling on her 
nephew’s part to disappoint her. This was what Willie 
felt, and he was sorry to find that his mother did not at all 
share his view. 

“ That is all rubbish,” Marcia declared when she had 
been made acquainted with the contents of Sir George’s 
letter; “ they only want, as they always have wanted, to 
separate you from me. Of course, if you choose to play 
into their hands, you can do so ; only I hope you will give 
them to understand that at least you are not their dupe. 
Caroline has been more or less upon her death-bed ever 
since I first knew her, and I haven’t a doubt that she will 
be still dying after I have been laid in my grave.” 

“ She really is ill,” said Willie apologetically ; “ I don’t 
believe she would be alive now if she hadn’t been taken 
great care of, and I think I ought to go when she asks me.” 
He added after a momentary hesitation : “ Aunt Caroline 
has her faults, but she has always been very kind to me.” 

“ Oh, well — go then ! ” returned Marcia, with an impa- 
tient laugh. “ I know quite well what you mean — I haven’t 
treated you as a mother ought to have done, and she has 
been so good as to replace me. I always knew that your 
simplicity would lead you to that conclusion, which isn’t 
altogether false, when all is said and done. Nevertheless 
if you had thought a little more about it, you might have 


MARCIA, 


299 


understood that I haven’t been quite free to consult my 
own inclinations through these long, weary years.” 

Willie made the reply that he was expected to make, but 
adhered to his resolution. Certainly he was anxious to 
leave Torquay for a time ; yet it was not for that reason 
that he had decided to obey the summons conveyed to 
him, nor did he propose to be absent for more than a fort- 
night. It seemed probable that before his return Lady 
Evelyn’s engagement would be formally announced ; after 
which his position would, he thought, be less painful. But 
however that might be, he could not have found it in his 
heart to distress his aunt, who, as he truly said, had 
always been very kind to him. 

Lady Brett, in reality, had defects from which some of 
us happen to be exempt, while she possessed good qualities 
which are perhaps a little less common than they are 
generally supposed to be. Narrow-minded, bigoted, and 
unamiable, she was nevertheless strictly conscientious. 
She habitually did what she conceived to be her duty ; she 
never wittingly told a falsehood ; she was a good hater, 
she was a staunch friend, and she loved her nephew better 
than anybody else in the world, not excepting her husband. 
If she was eager to withdraw her nephew from what she 
imagined to be malignant influences, it would be as un- 
reasonable to blame her for that as to blame a color-blind 
man for confusing red and green. It is not everybody 
whose eyes are clear enough to discern things as they are, 
nor are any of us over ready to accept the evidence of 
other people’s senses. So, when Willie reached Blaydon, 
and was shown into the library, where his aunt was lying 
upon a sofa near the fire, with an eider-down quilt over 
her knees, the first thing that she said to him, after return- 
ing some reassuring replies to his inquiries after her health, 
naturally was : — 

“ I hope your mother has not bewitched you, Willie ; she 
used to be rather clever at bewitching men in days gone 
by, I remember. To be sure, she was comparatively young 
then.’ 

“ She is my mother, you know,” said Willie. 

“ Oh, yes — and she has a grievance. I have thought it 
all over, and I have tried to make every allowance for her ; 
we must forgive others if we hope to be forgiven. Still I 
cannot acquit her of heartlessness, and I cannot believe 


300 


MARCIA. 


that she cares for you as we do. However, your own good 
sense must be your guide. How many days do you in- 
tend to bestow upon us } ” 

Willie answered that he had formed no plans ; his time 
was his own, and he wished to dispose of it, if he could, in 
such a manner as to content everybody. He would, no 
doubt, be expected to go back to Torquay, but personally 
he was not desirous of returning very soon. And when his 
aunt questioned him as to how he had employed himself 
there, he did not mind telling her that he had fallen in with 
an old schoolfellow who had taken him out yachting, to- 
gether with some other friends of his childhood, whom he 
mentioned by name. 

Lady Brett was not much interested in Mr. Mortimer ; 
but she ])ricked up her ears on being informed that Lady 
Evelyn Foljambe, whom she recollected to have seen as a 
child, had developed into a beautiful, clever, and charm- 
ing woman, and a very mild process of cross-examination 
sufficed to let her into a secret which the guileless Willie 
had every intention of keeping to himself. 

“You must not be too much afraid of this Mr. Mor- 
timer,” she said calmly at length. “ As far as money goes 
— and of course it does go a long way — you are his equal, 
and I am sure you are superior to him in other respects.” 

“ Oh, there’s no question of that,” answered Willie some- 
what red and confused, yet not altogether sorry to have 
been found out. “ I think Lady Evelyn is going to marry 
Mortimer ; but I really don’t know. As fqr me, I don’t 
suppose she would care a straw if she never s^w me again.” 

Lady Brett laughed. “You are much too modest, my 
dear boy,” said she ; “ you will have to go back to Tor- 
quay and try your luck. I wanted you to come here 
because — well, it was perfectly true that I was ill and that 
I might have died ; but perhaps I had other reasons as 
well. However, I don’t so much mind your going back 
now that I know what the attraction is ; only there is one 
thing that I want to impress upon you, Willie — you must 
not lend more money to Mr. Archdale. Your uncle feels 
very strongly upon the subject ; he has said to me more 
than once that he would never permit such a thing.” 

Willie made no reply. He had not lent money to Mr. 
Archdale, but to his mother, and he intended, if his mother 
should request him to do so, to lend her money again. 


MARCIA, 


301 


Still there was no need to proclaim his intentions or to 
assert an independence which his uncle, after all, had no 
power to curtail. In his simplicity he did not perceive 
what Lady Brett had understood at once, namely, that the 
hope of forming an aristocratic alliance would cause Sir 
George to overlook many acts of quasi-insubordination. 

He was therefore both pleased and surprised by the ex- 
treme amiability of his uncle’s manner during dinner. The 
old gentleman, who had not ceased with advancing years 
to take an active share in the management of the bank, had 
arrived from London by a late train, and had had a talk 
with his wife which had given him satisfaction. 

“ Well, my boy,” said he, “ I’m glad to have you at home 
once more, even if it isn’t to be a long visit this time. It’s 
dreary work sitting down to dinner all alone every even- 
ing, and I’m afraid I shall hardly get your aunt into the 
dining-room again this year. And how are things going 
on in the regiment ? Do the Plymouth people do their 
duty in providing you with plenty of amusement ? ” 

This question was in itself evidence of unwonted good 
humor, for Sir George had always piofessed the deepest 
disdain for everything connected with a soldier’s life in 
time of peace, and had affected to consider the regiment to 
which his nephew belonged quite beneath notice. Now, 
however, he listened with a condescending show of interest 
to what Willie had to tell him about military matters and 
about such hunting as seemed likely to be obtainable in the 
far west. It was not until the servants had left the room 
that he drew his chair up to the fireside and started a sub- 
ject of greater importance. 

“ So, young man,” he began, “ you’ve been losing your 
heart, I hear. Well, it’s better to do that than to lose 
your head, as, upon my word, I think you were in some 
danger of doing a short time ago. A fool and his money 
are soon parted ; but I don’t call a man a fool for falling 
in love, because that is what no human being can help.” 

Sir George thought it necessary to qualify this generous 
admission by pointing out that a man who falls in love may 
be guilty of great folly, but that he is not so when the 
object of his affections happens to be an earl’s daughter. 
And as for Willie’s modest protestations, he would have 
none of them. 

“ Oh, rubbish ! ” he exclaimed. “ Who is this man 
Mortimer that you should bow down before him ? Noth- 


302 


MARCIA. 


ing but a country gentleman ; which is what you yourself 
will be. With a larger income than his too, I dare say — 
unless you misbehave yourself. You will be a poorer- 
spirited fellow than I take you for, Willie, if you give in to 
him without making a fight for it.” 

Willie’s self-confidence was not greatly strengthened by 
this and other speeches couched in a similar strain of en- 
couragement, but it was a relief to be spared any allusion 
to his mother, and a still greater relief to know that no 
opposition would be raised against his ultimate return to 
Devonshire. For it need scarcely be said that his absurd 
anxiety to quit Torquay had been followed by an equally 
absurd longing to revisit the scene of his disappointment. 

“I have asked some of the neighbors to come over and 
shoot on Thursday,” Sir George announced presently. 
“ Perhaps I may give myself a holiday and look on. I shall 
not take out a gun, because, as you know, I am worse than 
useless ; but I shall look to you to maintain the credit of 
the family.” 

Sir George had an idea that a host ought, if possible, to 
bring down more birds than his guests. All hosts are not 
of that opinion ; but some perhaps are not sorry if, at the 
end of tlie day, they can show that, in spite of having taken 
the worst places, they can claim to have made the heaviest 
bag. So, on tlie following Thursday, he was secretly 
delighted by the success of his nephew, who, without being 
a first-rate shot, was nevertheless a good deal better than 
any of his rivals. There are, as everybody knows, days 
on which it seems impossible to miss and other days on 
which it seems just as impossible to touch a feather. Pro- 
bably what made Willie shoot so well was that he had not 
the slightest desire to distinguish himself. He aimed and 
fired mechanically ; he was not thinking, except for a mo- 
ment at a time, about pheasants or hares ; and so, as not 
unfrequently happens, he achieved renown without any 
conscious striving after it. In the luncheon-hut (Sir George 
always provided his neighbors with a hot luncheon, accom- 
panied by champagne), he was made a little uncomfortable 
by his uncle’s ill-concealed triumph, which, as the afternoon 
progressed, reached an uncontrollable pitch. 

“ That fellow,” Sir George confided to a squire of the 
vicinity, “ can do anything in the world that he chooses 
to give his mind to ; the only thing that stands in his way 


MARCIA, 


303 


is his diffidence. I confess that I should have liked to put 
him into the bank, but perhaps, after all, it’s as well as it 
is. He’ll soon get tired of soldiering and settle down to a 
country life — for which I think he is adapted. He’s a 
pretty fair*hand at field-sports, as you see, and he won’t 
lack the means to indulge his tastes — he won’t lack the 
means.” 

The elderly gentleman to whom this crow was addressed, 
and who was out of temper by reason of having just brought 
down a runner, answered : “ I suppose you know your own 
business best ; but, if I had a nephew who was likely to 
succeed me, I shouldn’t be in any hurry to make him drop 
his profession. Sport is all very well ; but young fellows 
ought to have work as well.” 

“ Oh, I’m quite aware of that,” rejoined Sir George, not 
a whit disconcerted ; “ I shan’t ask Willie to resign his 
commission until he marries. After that, the management 
of the estate will give him sufficient occupation. You 
can’t expect a lady to follow the drum.” 

Indeed he was so pleased by the notion of pressing a 
lady of title to his avuncular bosom that he refused to 
believe in the obstacles which Willie instanced while they 
walked homewards together in the twilight. 

“ My good fellow,” said he, ‘‘ you can win if you are 
determined to win ; all depends upon that. Look at me ! 
I never had the half of your advantages ; yet all my life 
through I have gained everything that I have resolved to 
gain. Don’t tell me that it is an easier thing to hit a 
rocketing pheasant than to conquer a girl’s heart ; I’ve 
lived long enough to know better than that. I grant you 
that Lady Wetherby will want to know what your prospects 
are. Well, you may tell her from me that they aren’t very 
much worse than Mr. Mortimer’s. I’ve looked him up in 
the Landed Gentry, and I can form a pretty shrewd guess 
at the relation which his rent-roll bears to his income.” 

“ I don’t think Lady Wetherby will ever have occasion 
to inquire about my prospects,” answered Willie, smiling 
and shaking his head ; “ but, if she did, I should have to 
tell her that they were very doubtful, shouldn’t I? At 
least, that is what you have always given me to under- 
stand.” 

Sir George walked on for some little distance in silence. 
When he once more opened his lips it was to deliver what 


304 


MARCIA, 


had all the appearance of being a carefully weighed state- 
ment. 

“ A boy,” said he, “ may turn out well or badly. When 
that boy is not one’s own son, one does not, unless one is 
an idiot, undertake to leave him a fortune which has been 
amassed by many years of hard work. But you are no 
longer a boy ; your character is formed, and, if you have 
not always acted precisely as I should have wished you to 
act, you have given me no fair cause to complain of you. 
I think you ought now to know that you will inherit all I 
possess, subject, of course, to such provision as I have 
made for your aunt’s maintenance in the event of her sur- 
viving me. There is, I believe, one thing, and only one, 
which will induce me to alter my will. What that is, you 
are already aware.” 

“ That one thing,” observed Willie, “ is just what may 
occur at any time.” 

“ It must not occur,” returned Sir George, stopping short 
and stamping his foot emphatically on the moist ground. 
“ I think you will allow, Willie, that I have never played 
the tyrant with you. When you were under age and sub- 
ject to my control, I thought it right to separate you from 
your mother, and to that arrangement she saw fit to con- 
sent. When you became your own master I did not, 
because I could not, forbid you to meet her ; only I fore- 
saw and I warned you what the result would be. My ap- 
prehensions have been fully verified. I understand that it 
is not easy to refuse a loan of a hundred pounds to your 
mother when she states that she is in want ; yet you will 
have to refuse ; for, if you don’t, you may depend upon it 
that it will not be an hundred or a thousand pounds that 
will satisfy her. Give way at the outset and these leeches 
will fasten upon you and fatten upon you until you or they 
die. You are a young man, so you don’t believe me, I 
daresay ; but perhaps I, who am old, know the human race 
a little better than you do.” 

“ I think you are unjust to my mother,” said Willie, who 
could not deny that the remainder of Sir George’s speech 
was reasonable enough. 

“ It may be so. I cannot forget your mother’s history, 
and it is possible that I am prejudiced against a woman 
who has grossly insulted me, who was a bad wife to my 
brother, and whom I regard as having been the cause of 


MARCIA. 


30s 

his death. But, whether I am just or unjust to her, I am 
not likely to be mistaken as to the manner in which she 
and her spendthrift of a husband will act. They shall not 
have the squandering of my fortune, that is certain. In a 
word, my boy, you must make your choice between 
them and me. And let me remind you that, if you haven’t 
the moral courage to say no when the next demand is 
made upon your purse, you will lose something more than 
a fortune. Lady Wetherby’s jointure will die with her ; 
she will not marry her daughter to a man who has only a 
small income of his own and a mother dependent upon 
him. Don’t answer me ; but put that all in your pipe and 
smoke it. Now, if you please, we’ll drop the subject : I 
hope and trust that there will never be any need for us to 
reopen it.” 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

A FRIENDLY WARNING. 

Sir George Brett must be allowed such merit as may be 
implied in the possession of sound common-sense. He 
cherished, no doubt, an invincible grudge against Marcia ; 
but he had not misread Archdale’s character, and, if the 
danger of his very large fortune being dissipated by that 
thriftless gentleman was somewhat remote, nothing was 
more probable than that extensive inroads would eventu- 
ally be made upon it if Willie’s disposition to play into his 
stepfather’s hands were not nipped in the bud. And with 
that end in view Sir George had acted sensibly, saying 
neither too much nor too little, and impressing his nephew 
with a certain feeling of respect for him. Having fired his 
shot, he left well alone, nor did the name of Archdale pass 
his lips again during the remainder of Willie’s visit. It 
was by his suggestion that that visit was brought to an end 
at the expiration of something under a fortnight. 

“ Now, my boy,” he said good-humoredly one morning 
(for indeed he had continued to be in the best of humors 
all this time), “ 1 know your heart is in Torquay, and you 
had better let your body follow it. Your aunt is gaining 
strength again now, and she is satisfied with the glimpse 

20 


MARCIA. 


306 

that she has had of you, and so am I. Old folks mustn’t 
attempt to compete with beautiful young ladies. So be 
off as soon as you please, and good luck go with you! 
You may tell Lady Wetherby that she needn’t feel any 
delicacy about writing to me and asking questions. I shall 
be glad to give her the fullest information, and I don’t 
think she will find my replies unsatisfactory.” 

It was useless to reason with this confident old gentle- 
man, and, in spite of himself, Willie could not help being 
to some extent infected by his sanguine spirit. Naturally, 
he did not look at the matter from his uncle’s standpoint, 
He did not believe that the fact of his prospects being as 
good as Mortimer’s would weigh for one moment with Lady 
Evelyn ; yet that fact might very possibly have weight with 
her mother, and he had suspected all along that Lady 
Evelyn, being in love with nobody, was willing, out of 
sheer indifference, to marry the man of her mother’s choice. 
But, after all, it was not a fact that his prospects were as 
assured as Mortimer’s. On the contrary, it was quite plain 
that they would be worth very little unless he was prepared 
to throw his mother overboard ; and this led him to ask 
himself what he really intended to do with regard to his 
mother. It was a difficult question, which gave him ample 
food for reflection during his long journey westwards. Sir 
George, it might be assumed, was not far out in his prog- 
nostications. There would soon be a further request for 
money, followed by other requests — not, perhaps, for hun- 
dreds or thousands, but for such small sums as ladies who 
have to pay the tradespeople and whose husbands are of 
an extravagant disposition are apt to stand in need of. 
Could he turn a deaf ear to requests of that kind ? He 
hardly thought that he could, although he realized the 
futility of acceding to them, and the long price that he might 
be called upon to pay for his weakness. He could not 
bring himself to say to his mother, “ It is out of the ques- 
tion for me to help you ; because, if I do, I shall imperil 
my chance of becoming a rich man some day.” So the 
only result at which he arrived was a forlorn hope that he 
might not be placed between the horns of the inevitable 
dilemma and a pardonable indignation against Archdale, 
who might have been earning a sufficient income, but was 
too lazy to do it. 

His stepfather, as it chanced, was the first person to 
greet him on his arrival at Torquay. As his fly lurned in 


MARCIA. 


307 


at the gates of the villa the indistinct forms of two gentle- 
men who had walked up the hill behind him emerged from 
the semi-darkness, and it was Archdale’s mellow voice that 
said — 

“ So here you are again, Brett ! Delighted to see you, 
though I suppose I mustn’t flatter myself that I am the 
magnet which has drawn you back to this dreary hole.” 

“ How do you do ? ” answered Willie. He did not like 
the man, and he fancied that his tone had an ironical in- 
flection which was, to say the least of it, uncalled for. 

Mr. Archdale’s companion now advanced, holding out a 
plump hand. By the light of the gas-lamp in the porch he 
. was seen to be fat, elderly, grey-haired, and a little out of 
breath by reason of the ascent which he had just made. 

“You don’t remember me,” he remarked. “Well, it 
would be strange if you did, though I remember you well 
enough, and we used to be pretty good friends once upon 
a time. Have you forgotten that evening when we thought 
you had drowned your mother in the Lago Maggiore, and 
Archdale wanted to eat you up, body and bones ? He wanted 
to eat me up the next morning, though goodness knows I 
had no hand in spiriting the pair of you away. Well, times 
are changed ; I dare say he wouldn’t quarrel with an old 
friend about such a trifle as that nowadays.” 

“ I don’t think you have changed much, Mr. Drake,” 
answered Willie, laughing ; “ I should have recognized you 
in another minute.” 

But Mr. Drake, besides being a dozen years older, was 
in other respects an altered man. By great good luck he 
had come into an unexpected inheritance which sufficed to 
make his bachelof existence comfortable ; and this, as was 
only natural, had exercised a sobering influence upon him. 
He no longer borrowed money of good-natured friends ; 
his waist had become enlarged by several inches ; he was 
on the committee of his club ; he had ceased to play whist, 
except for sixpenny points ; he went to church twice on 
Sundays and led a blameless, useless, contented sort of life. 
It must, however, be added, to his credit, that he did not 
ignore favors received in past years, and that he had ac- 
cepted Mr. Archdale’s invitation to run down to Torquay 
for a day or two in spite of certain reasons that he had for 
wishing to decline that civility. 

Willie thought him a pleasant old gentleman enough, and 
was by no means sorry to have his company at dinner and 


3o8 


MARCIA, 


through the evening. For his mother was in one of her 
most jealous and suspicious moods, and kept putting ques- 
tions to him which he could not conveniently answer. 
What had the George Bretts said about her? Why had 
they consented to let him leave them ? Was Caroline 
really ill or only shamming? It was difficult for a young 
man who desired to tell nothing out the truth, yet not the 
whole truth, to reply to such queries, and the presence of 
Mr. Drake was some safeguard against their being pushed 
too far. He himself would fain have made a few inquiries, 
but he did not venture to do so, nor was any information 
volunteered about Lady Wetherby and her belongings. He 
had to comfort himself with the thought that no news is. 
good news, and that, if Lady Evelyn had been engaged to 
Mortimer, the circumstance would surely have been consid- 
ered worthy of mention. 

After breakfast, the next morning, he was wandering 
round the garden, trying to keep a cigarette alight in the 
teeth of a gusty wind, when he was joined by Mr. Drake, 
and it soon became evident that that gentleman had some- 
thing more to say than that the weather was abominable, 
and that London, after all, was far and away the best place 
to be in while leaves were falling and south-westerly gales 
roaring in from the Atlantic every other day. 

Has our friend Archdale spoken to you at all about 
his affairs ? ” he inquired, after the above topics had been 
pretty well exhausted. 

“ No,” answered Willie, “ he hasn’t yet. Are his affairs 
in a bad way ? ” 

Mr. Drake shook his head. “Between you and me,” 
said he, “ I’m afraid they are in a bad Vay — in a deuced 
bad way. You aren’t his son, so I hope you won’t take 
offence at my speaking plainly about him, and the plain 
truth is that Archdale isn’t fit to be trusted with a shilling. 
If he goes on like this, he’ll be in the Bankruptcy Court 
before he’s much older. I don’t mean to say that he’s dis- 
honest or that he can help being what he is ; perhaps he 
can’t. But I ask you, what’s the use of lending money to 
a man who simply chucks it out of window and goes on 
living beyond his income as gaily as ever. One would 
be a fool do such a thing even if one were a rich man 
— which I am not.” 

“ Has he asked you to lend him money ? ” inquired 
Willie. 


MARCIA. 


309 


“ Well, yes, he has. And I’ve done it too — more than 
once. I don’t mind telling you that in old days it was the 
other way about. I was a poor devil then, and he helped 
me out of difficulties ; and the least that I could do, after 
I got possession of a little money of my own, was to repay 
him and to oblige him with a loan when he asked me. 
Still there are limits, you know. The moment that I read 
his letter, begging me to come down here, I guessed how 
it would be, and last night I had to meet him with a flat 
refusal. Not very pleasant ; but what can one do ? Dash 
it all ! I ain’t a gold-mine.” 

“ I should have thought my mother’s income and his 
own would have been sufficient to pay all the expenses of 
their present style of living,” observed Willie, somewhat 
perturbed. 

“ My dear fellow, as far as I can make out, your mother 
has next to no income at all ; her capital seems to have 
melted, and as for their present style of living, which Arch- 
dale calls ‘ pigging it,’ it’s quite another thing from the 
style in which they used to live abroad, I can tell you. 
The fact is that Archdale has behaved like a perfect idiot. 
I believe his pictures don’t sell as well as they once did ; 
but if they fetched ;^5,ooo a piece it would be the same 
story. As soon as his purse is full he must needs empty 
it. I suppose it’s his nature to be like that, just as it’s his 
nature to be perpetually making a fool of himself about 
women.” 

Does he do that ? ” asked Willie quickly. 

“ Oh, not to any criminal extent; but there’s always a 
flirtation going on. There always was, and I should 
think there always will be, if he lives to be a hundred. It 
used to vex your mother ; I don’t know whether it vexes 
her still. However, what I wanted to say to you was 
this ; I understand that you’re well off and likely to be 
better off, and Archdale is bound to apply to you sooner 
or later. Well, if I were in your place, I wouldn’t oblige 
him — I wouldn’t really. It sounds an unfriendly sort of 
thing to say, but I’m persuaded that there’s no good in 
trying to help a man of his stamp. As for me, I shall 
hook it. I’ve had letters this morning which compel me to 
return to London at once,” added Mr. Drake, with a smile 
and a wink. 

It was impossible to be angry with the man, for there 
could be no doubt that he meant kindly ; but the humor 


310 


MARCIA. 


of his admonition (which saves so many admonitions from 
being hopelessly stupid and impertinent) was lost upon 
Willie, who did not know that Mr. Drake had in former 
times been one of the most barefaced beggars in England, 
and who parted from his counsellor with a heavy heart. 

It was partly because he did not wish to hear any more 
revelations about his mother’s husband, and partly because 
he had an irresistible craving to hear something about 
other persons who were then sojourning in Torquay, that 
he said he must run down to the post-office and buy some 
stamps. Being a man of his word, he duly went to the 
post-office and bought his stamps ; but he did not encoun- 
ter Lady Evelyn on the way, nor did he escape from the 
disquieting thoughts which Mr. Drake’s remarks had 
brought into his mind. It was all very well for Mr. Drake 
to rap out a good, sturdy “ no ” and be recalled to London, 
but his own perplexities were not to be dealt with after 
that summary fashion. He could harden his heart against 
Archdale easily enough, but he could not harden it against 
his mother, and everything seemed to indicate the proba- 
bility that he would ere long be. guilty of an offense 
which Sir George Brett would never pardon. The worst 
of it was, too, that Sir George was in the right ; for it was 
obviously absurd to pour water into a sieve, and what Mr. 
Drake had said only lent confirmation to what Willie him- 
self had surmised. 

After leaving the post-office he strolled down towards 
the harbor ; possibly he had an unacknowledged curiosity 
to see whether the Albatross was still lying there. Tor- 
quay harbor is not quite the most comfortable place in the 
world to lie in when the stormy winds do blow, and by 
the late autumn most yachtsmen who have not had the 
sense to abandon what at best is but a doubtful pleasure 
at that season of the year have sought some quieter 
anchorage. Consequently there was no difficulty in identi- 
fying the solitary yawl which was pitching and rolling at her 
moorings under the inefficient shelter of the breakwater. 
Willie had been standing for some little time upon the 
quay, with his hands behind his back, watching her, and 
wondering whether, if he stayed there long enough, he 
would be rewarded by obtaining speech with her owner, 
when a hand was laid upon his shoulder, and, wheeling 
round, he was brought face to face with that fortunate 
personage. 


MARCIA, 


3 ” 


Mortimer did not look as if he considered himself par- 
ticularly fortunate at that moment. He had the appearance 
of being a thoroughly dejected man, and he presently 
explained that such was indeed his plight. 

“ If ever you want to get into the proper frame of mind 
for cutting your throat, Brett,” said he, “ let me recommend 
you to try yachting late in the year and bring up at Tor- 
quay. That’ll make you wish you had never been born, 
or nothing will ! Just look at that beastly tumbling sea — 
and this sort of thing has been going on for the last week 
without a check ! The glass is rising now ; but I daresay 
that only means that we’re in for a north-westerly gale. 
Well I’m glad you’re back, anyhow ; it’s something to be 
able to exchange a few words with a fellow-creature.” 

“ But you have our friends at Malton Lodge,” said 
Willie, somewhat surprised by this despondency. 

“ No, I haven’t. At least, Lady-Wetherby is there ; but 
Lady Evelyn has been away for ten days, staying with 
somebody or other. She is expected back to-night, and 
to-morrow we are to have a last sail, I believe, if the 
weather permits — which it won’t. Then I shall send the 
yacht round to Gosport to lay up, and precious glad I 
shall be to get rid of her, I can tell you.” 

It would not have been in human nature that Willie 
should feel any deep sympathy with this forsaken and 
disconsolate wooer ; but he said, I suppose you must 
have found it slow here of late.” 

“ Slow ! — ^my dear fellow, slow is no word for it ! There 
literally hasn’t been a thing to do, except sit in the club, 
and rap the barometer, and curse the weather and try to 
sleep as much as possible. Besides, I’ve been bothered 
about — about things.” He looked as if he contemplated 
adding something more, but did not get further than opening 
his lips once or twice, as he stood rolling about a pebble 
under his foot upon the coping of the quay. 

“ I’ll tell you what I wish you would do,” he resumed at 
length, looking up suddenly, “ I wish you would come on 
board and lunch with me. You don’t mind a bit of a roll, 
do you ? ” 

“ I don’t think I very much like it,” answered Willie 
doubtfully. 

“ Oh, you’ll be all right ; you won’t notice it after the first 
few minutes ; it’s nothing to what we have been having. 


312 


MARCIA. 


You might come, like a good chap. The fact is I rather 
want to have a chat with you, and it’s impossible to talk 
out here, with the wind whistling through one’s bones. 

Now it required no great perspicuity to guess that the 
subject about which Mr. Mortimer was anxious to talk 
confidentially must be in some way connected with Lady 
Evelyn, and, even at the risk of being sea-sick, Willie 
could not resist an invitation of that kind. So he said, 
“All right, then. I’ll come. If the worst comes to the 
worst, I suppose you’ll have the humanity to put me on 
shore before I disgrace myself.” 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 

MORTIMER IS CONFIDENTIAL. 

Mortimer blew shrilly upon a whistle which he drew from 
his waistcoat pocket and received an answering signal from 
the yacht, whence a boat was at once lowered. A few 
minutes later he and his guest were standing upon the 
heaving deck of the Albatross^ and Willie remarked with 
calm resignation, “ A quarter of an hour of this will about 
finish me, I expect.” 

Oh, nonsense ! ” returned the other, “ there isn’t really 
any motion to speak of. Come below and have something 
to eat, and you’ll soon forget that you aren’t on dry land. 
We’ll have some champagne, though, to make assurance 
doubly sure.” 

It may be doubted whether eating off a swinging table 
is a very good remedy for dizziness, but the virtues of 
champagne as a corrective have long been recognized by 
persons liable to sea-sickness, and Mr. Mortimer’s cham- 
pagne was of the best quality. As much could not be 
said for the solid food set before his guest, which was 
cooked after a fashion to which all yachtsmen must learn 
to submit, whether they pay their cooks highly or not, 
because no other is obtainable. Such as it was, however, 
Willie found himself able to partake of it, and realized, 
to his great relief, that he was in no imminent danger of 
humiliating catastrophes. He was all the more glad of that 
because he was extremely curious to hear what was the 


MARCIA. 


313 

nature of the confidence which Mortimer apparently meant 
to repose in him ; so that it was a little disappointing to 
be catechized with regard to the sport he had had in Kent 
and to listen to the vain regrets of a keen shot. 

“ To think that one should get so far on in the season 
as this without using a single cartridge ! ” sighed Mortimer 
mournfully. “ Such a thing hasn’t happened to me since 
I was a child. But this has been an exceptional sort of 
year all round. I don’t want ever to spend another like 
it, I know that much.” 

He became more explicit — the champagne possibly 
helping to loosen his tongue — when luncheon had been 
disposed of. He then conducted his friend to a recess at 
the foot of the companion which had been fitted, up as 
a smoking-room, with a divan upon which recumbent 
smokers could wedge themselves into a position of com- 
parative stability, and, having given him a cigar and lighted 
one himself, began — 

“ I suppose you know why I’m here now, Brett.” 

“ Yes,” answered Willie slowly, “ I suppose I do.” 

“ Well, it’s evident of course. Nobody would come 
yachting to Torquay in the beginning of winter unless he 
had a pretty good reason for it. All the same. I’m begin- 
ning to doiDt whether I haven’t come here on a fool’s 
errand after all. What do you think? You’re an unpre- 
judiced, disinterested outsider, and I should like to hear 
your opinion. Candidly now, what do you think? ” 

Willie could not disclaim the unprejudiced and disinter- 
ested character ascribed to him, but he professed himself 
quite incapable of forming a trustworthy judgment upon the 
question as to which he was consulted. “I don’t exactly 
understand what you mean,” he said. “ I imagine that 
you are here on Lady Evelyn Foljambe’s account ; but I 
can’t possibly tell whether she intends to accept you or 
not, if that is what you want to know. How could I ? I’m 
not half as well acquainted with her as you are ; and 
besides. I’ve been away.” 

“ Oh yes, and so has she, for the matter of that. I can’t 
help fancying that she went away on purpose.” 

“ But she is coming back this evening ; you say.” 

“ Yes, she is coming back this evening, she was bound 
to come back some time or other, you know. But I thought 
you might have heard or noticed something before you 
left. Did she ever speak to you about me ? ” 


MARCIA. 


3H 

“She did once or twice,” answered Willie, who remem- 
bered quite well what she had said and felt that it would 
not bear repetition, “ but I didn’t gather very much from 
that, one way or the other. I am really as much in the 
dark as you are.” 

“ You must be hopelessly in the dark, then. Honestly 
speaking, I did believe that she cared for me last season in 
London. You may call me conceited if you like, but I 
think I had some excuse for believing that. She knew I 
was coming to To»rquay in the autumn ; she must have 
known why I was coming, and she certainly seemed to 
encourage me. So did her mother.” 

Willie made a murmur of assent. 

“Ah, I see. You think her mother had more to say to 
that than she had, and I’m afraid you’re right, Brett. 
Still, Lady Wetherby isn’t a match-making old woman, 
and, when all’s said, I’m no such extraordinary catch. I’m 
sure you’re thinking a lot more than you choose to say. 
Speak out, like a good fellow ; you won’t offend me, I pro- 
mise you.” 

This was really a most embarrassing request, and to 
comply with it, while at the same time steering clear of 
offensiveness, would have required more wit or duplicity 
than Willie could boast of. He got out of the difficulty 
by answering, “ My thoughts don’t matter ; the only im- 
portant question for you is what Lady Evelyn thinks, and 
you can’t find that out without asking her. Why don’t 
you ? ” 

“ Because, my dear fellow, she won’t give me the chance. 
I suppose, if I’ve been upon the brink of proposing to her 
once, I’ve been upon the brink ten times, and each time 
she has contrived to put me off. You have no idea what a 
hand she is at that kind of thing. I believe I can stand chaff 
about as well as most people, but there are times, don’t 
you know, when one doesn’t want to be chaffed.” Mor- 
timer scratched the back of his head, tilting his yachting 
cap over his eyes, and added ruefully, “ Kang me if I can 
make out what she’s driving at ! ” 

“ The only plan is to ask her,” said Willie again. 

“Well, I suppose so; although I must confess that I 
don’t feel very confident. It looks to me as if she didn’t 
wish to be driven into a corner — as if she hadn’t quite 
made up her mind whether to say yes or no. And I sus- 
pect that that is what made her go away.” 


MARCIA. 


315 

Willie opined that Lady Evelyn had now had time enough 
to ascertain her own wishes, and that she might reasonably 
be requested to state them. “ If it’s a fair question, Mor- 
timer,” he ventured to ask in conclusion, “ are you — are 
you very fond of her ? ” 

Mortimer looked a little foolish, “ Oh, of course,” he 
answered. “ One wouldn’t want to spend the rest of one’s 
life with a girl unless one was fond of her,” 

He jumped off his seat, ran up the companion and studied 
the weather for a moment. Then he returned, and, throw- 
ing himself down upon the divan again, resumed : “ While 
I’m at it, I may as well tell the whole truth. I don’t think 
I cared so very much about her in London ; only I liked 
her, and I was under the impression that she liked me, 
and my people are always bothering me to marry. But 
since I have felt less sure of her it has been rather different. 
Oh, I’m in love with her right enough, if that’s what you 
mean.” 

“ Then,” said Willie rather curtly — for, somehow or 
other, this information was something of a disappointment 
to him — “ all you have to do is to find out whether she is 
in love with you.” 

“ Exactly so ; and I’m very much afraid that she isn’t. 
I don’t know how or why it is ; but she has certainly 
changed of late. I should understand it if she had been 
seeing other fellows ; but she hasn’t, you know. There 
isn’t a soul in Torquay whom she could possibly have 
taken a fancy to, except yourself, and I daresay you won’t 
think me insulting if I say that I see no reason to be .afraid 
of you.” 

Willie managed to force out a laugh, though he felt his 
cheeks reddening. “ I’m not very formidable,” he an- 
^ swered ; “ ladies aren’t much in the habit of becoming 
enamored of me.” 

‘‘ Oh, I don’t know why they shouldn’t be,” Mortimer 
declared generously ; “ I’ve no doubt they’d think you no 
end of a fellow if you took the trouble to be attentive to 
them ; but you’re hardly a ladies’ man, are you ? All I 
meant to say was that in this particular instance you are 
not to be dreaded. To be perfectly candid, I did for a 
moment imagine that there might be something between 
you and her ; so I took an opportunity of asking her what 
she thought of you.” 


3i6 


MARCIA. 


“ And she set your mind at ease, I suppose ? ” 

“ Oh, yes ; she set my mind at ease. Not that she said 
a word against you, you understand; on the contrary, she 
praised you up to the skies. Only one knows the sort of 
feeling that women have about a man whom they praise in 
that way. He’s everything that you please as a friend ; 
but he wouldn’t exactly suit them as a husband.” 

Having thus incidentally crushed the life out of any in- 
sane hopes that may have been rising in the breast of his 
confidant, Mr. Mortimer proceeded : “ The long and the 
short of it is, then, that you advise me not to shilly-shally 
any longer? You don’t think I should improve my 
chances by waiting a bit.” 

Willie was able to reply honestly that he should recom- 
mend prompt action. If Lady Evelyn had not yet made 
up her mind, it did not seem likely that further delay could 
bring her nearer a decision. 

Mortimer nodded. “ All right,” said he ; “ the deed 
shall be done to-morrow, if only this vile wind will moder- 
ate. You might be good-natured and come with us — will 
you ? Then you could entertain the old lady, as you did 
before, you know, and I could find an occasion to say my 
little say and have done with it.” 

Good-natured as he was, Willie demurred to this unpa- 
latable proposition. 

“You will get on all right without me,” he answered ; 
“ Lady Wetherby is on your side, and she isn’t likely to 
thrust her company upon you.” 

“ Oh, she will be quite willing to make herself scarce,” 
agreed Mortimer ; “ I know that. It’s Lady Evelyn 
whom I’m doubtful about. I’m as certain as I sit here 
that she doesn’t want to be brought to bay, and there’s no 
getting rid of third persons unless the whole three are of 
one mind. If you were with us, you could easily lend me 
a helping hand, don’t you see.” 

To such an appeal only one response was possible, and 
indeed it did not greatly signify. If one is to be con- 
demned to inevitable suffering one may as well be present 
when sentence is passed as not. Willie, therefore, accepted 
the humble task of usefulness assigned to him, and having 
done so, rose, saying that it was time for him to be off. 
Mortimer, however, was very unwilling to let him go. He 
had to admit that he had nothing particular to do, and, as 


MARCIA. 


3*7 


a result of that admission, he had to listen for another hour 
to confidences which he would fain have dispensed with. 
With unintentional cruelty, Mortimer expatiated upon 
Lady Evelyn’s many charms and good qualities, protesting 
his complete faith in her, notwithstanding all that he had 
heard about her heartlessness. 

“ She isn’t a flirt in reality,” he was good enough to ex- 
plain ; “ but I suppose that, like all women, she has a 
hankering after admiiation, and very likely she sees no 
harm in giving a certain amount of encouragement to 
fellows who haven’t serious intentions, and whom she 
wouldn’t dream of marrying if they had. Only I have 
always fancied that she treated me rather differently from 
the others. Of course I may be quite wrong, though ; 
what do you think yourself? ” 

This question was repeated in one form or another again 
and again, to the discomfiture of poor Willie, who kept on 
answering that he really knew nothing about it. It was 
rather hard upon him that he should be asked to cheer the 
spirits and allay the misgivings of a rival who seemed to 
have every chance of success. His patience almost broke 
down when he was begged to say quite honestly whether 
he believed Lady Evelyn capable of consenting to arrange- 
ments made on her behalf by her family, without regard to 
her personal predilections. 

“ Because I don’t want to be accepted on those terms, 
you know,” Mortimer declared. I’d a good deal rather 
be told straight out that she liked me well enough, but 
didn’t care for me in the way that I care for her.” 

“ How can I possibly judge of her feelings ! ” exclaimed 
Willie. “ From the little that I have seen of her, I should 
think that if you asked her she would answer you truly ; 
but you yourself say that I am not a ladies’ man. If you 
are in the dark, it stands to reason that I must be much 
more so.” 

At length he was permitted to depart ; and dismal enough 
were his reflections after he had been put ashore and had 
started on the uphill road which led towards his mother’s 
house. Setting one consideration against another, the 
evidence of facts doubtless told in Mortimer’s favor. 
Lady Evelyn might have gone away out of coquetry, or 
simply because she had thought that a little change of 
scene would be agreeable ; but it was perfectly plain that 


MARCIA. 


318 

if she had intended to refuse her suitor, she would have 
allowed him to propose to her and have got rid of him. 
Hesitation may mean fifty things, but it cannot mean a 
negative decision. As for himself^, he was convinced now, 
if he had not been so before, that he was nothing more to 
her than a casual and rather pleasant acquaintance. Mor- 
timer’s report of the manner in which she had spoken about 
him was conclusive upon that point. 

He might or might not have been in some measure com- 
forted if he could have overheard a conversation which was 
at that moment taking place between Lady Evelyn and her 
mother. The girl, who had just arrived from her journey, 
was seated beside the tea-table, with her hat and jacket 
on, and had been informed that, should the weather prove 
propitious on the morrow, she would be expected to pay 
a farewell visit to the Albatross. The announcement 
apparently did not please her ; for she made an impatient 
gesture and exclaimed — 

“ What a miserable want of originality ! I should have 
thought that in all this time Mr. Mortimer might have hit 
upon some new idea. I don’t think I was ever so tired of 
anything in my life as I am of sailing round Torbay in that 
yacht.” 

“ I am sure you can’t dread the prospect half so much 
as I do, my dear,” answered her mother rather dolefully. 
“ You at least are a good sailor, whereas I am a disgracefully 
bad one. Even if the wind drops, as it seems to be doing, 
one can’t expect that horrible sea to have quieted down by 
•to-morrow.” 

“ But if you don’t want to go, and I don’t want to go, 
why on earth are we going ? ” Lady Evelyn inquired. 

“ Oh, I think we ought. Mr. Mortimer only came to 
Torquay on our account, you must remember, and I am 
afraid he has found it very dull while you have been away ; 
and — and it is the last time that he will ask us to go out 
sailing with him, you see.” 

“Yes ; there is a grain of consolation in that thought. 
Moreover, if we didn’t go out sailing with him, he would 
come to luncheon here and stay the whole afternoon, I 
suppose. All the same I wish we could get hold of some 
amiable fourth person to square the party. Mr. Brett 
would have been invaluable ; but he is still away, isn’t 
he?” 


MARCIA. 


319 

I believe he has returned,” answered Lady Wetherby, 
a momentary cloud overspreading her good-humored face ; 
“ his mother was here this afternoon, and she told me that 
he had come back. But I don’t think I will ask him to 
join us in another yachting excursion : he didn’t enjoy him- 
self very much the last time.” 

“ Didn’t he?” asked Lady Evelyn innocently. “ I’m 
sure it was no fault of yours or mine if he didn’t ; for we 
both tried our little best to entertain him. What makes 
you think that he found us tedious ? ” 

Lady Wetherby laughed. “ I didn’t say he had found 
us tedious ; I said he didn’t enjoy himself, and I doubt 
whether he would enjoy a repetition of the dose, poor boy ! 
Anyhow, I can’t invite him ; the Albatross doesn’t belong 
to me.” 

“ I shouldn’t feel the slightest scruple about inviting him 
if I wanted him,” observed Lady Evelyn pensively ; “ but 
after all, I don’t know that I do particularly want him. 
Anybody else would do quite as well. Perhaps Mr. Arch- 
dale might be induced to honor us with his company.” 

Lady Wetherby thought not. “ From what I hear,” said 
she, “ Mr. Archdale prefers playing whist at the club to 
doing anything else. Besides, we couldn’t very well ask 
him without Marcia.” 

“In that case,” said Lady Evelyn, perhaps we had 
better not ask him. I can’t understand how such a nasty 
woman as Mrs. Archdale ever contrived to have such a 
nice son as Mr. Brett.” 

“ She isn’t so very nasty and he isn’t so very nice,” 
returned her mother. “ You jump to conclusions about 
people much too hastily, my dear.” 

“ Do I ? Well, you can’t accuse me of having jumped 
hastily to any conclusion about Mr. Mortimer, who is 
neither nasty nor nice, handsome nor ugly, clever nor 
stupid. The only positive thing that I can discover about 
him is his income ; but I suppose that is the most impor- 
tant thing that can be discovered about anybody, isn’t 
it?” 


320 


MARCIA, 


CHAPTER XL. 

ROUGH-WEATHER SAILING. 

When the autumnal equinox is over and the south-westerly 
gales have blown themselves out, the wind commonly veers 
towards the north or west, and in favorable years thete 
follows a period of still sunny days and starry nights, with 
a touch of frost in the air. In unfavorable years (these are 
perhaps the more numerous) sharp squalls of wind and rain 
sweep in from the same quarter, alternating with bright 
intervals, a condition of things tolerable enough to people 
on dry land who carry umbrellas, but full of discomfort for 
those whom the pursuit of business or pleasure tempts to 
sail upon the sea. Now, the day which Mr. Mortimer had 
fixed upon as the last of his nautical career for that season 
was of the latter uncertain type. There was no denying 
that it was a fine morning ; but over the distant hills of 
Dartmoor there hung a black cloud, with sun-rays stream- 
ing up above it and an ominous grey appearance below it ; 
so that Lady Wetherby, as she stood upon the terrace in 
front of her villa and anxiously surveyed the horizon, 
shading her eyes with her hand, heaved a deep sigh. 

“ I suppose it will do,” she observed to her daughter ; 
“ one can’t very well say that it won’t do. Only I am 
certain that as soon as we are well out to sea something 
horrible will happen.” 

“ Then we’ll stay at home,” answered Lady Evelyn 
decisively. “ We would do a great deal to please Mr. 
Mortimer — that’s understood — but I don’t see why we 
should run the risk of being drowned to please him.” 

“ Oh', I daresay there isn’t much danger of that, rejoined 
her mother \ “ the Albatross is seaworthy, I believe, and 
there is no appearance of a storm approaching. But un- 
fortunately something very far short of a storm will suffice 
to make me quite indifferent to the prospect of death. 
There’s no help for it, my dear ; go we must. All I beg of 
you is that you will not ask me to remain on deck. It is 


MARCIA. 


321 


just wildly possible that, by lying on the flat of my back 
in the cabin and shutting my eyes, I may manage to pull 
through.” 

So the messenger whom Mr. Mortimer had despatched « 
from the yacht, and who was waiting for a reply, was sent 
away with a verbal intimation to the effect that the ladies 
would be at the landing-S(teps in about twenty minutes, and 
the elder of them prepared herself to undergo one of those 
forms of martyrdom to which all good mothers must occa- 
sionally submit for their daughters’ sake. If in this instance 
the daughter of the martyr. was far from grateful, there 
was nothing surprising or unusual about her ingratitude : 
few people understand what their true interests are, and 
fewer still return thanks to those who endeavor to promote 
them. 

During the drive down to the quay Lady Evelyn was 
taciturn and depressed ; she seated herself in the gig with 
the half-resigned, half-impatient air of one who foresees 
annoyance, and, as the men gave way, she remarked 
gloomily : “ Well, we are in for it now ! I only hope that, 
whatever comes of this, nobody will be so unfair as to blame 
me. /didn’t want to go to sea to-day.” 

However, she brightened up wonderfully when she 
stepped on board and recognized the figure of Willie Brett, 
stationed a few paces behind the owner of the vessel. 

“ This is really kind of you ! ” she exclaimed, shaking hands 
cordially with the young man. “ I know you can’t be here 
for pleasure — no mortal could. So I shall take the liberty 
of assuming that you came out of sheer charity, and because 
you realized that M^ Mortimer would be much too busy 
sailing the ship to waste time in entertaining me.” 

And it pleased her to maintain this preposterous assump- 
tion, notwithstanding all the assurances to the contrary that 
she received from those who were in a position to speak 
authoritatively. In vain Mortimer protested that he had 
nothing whatsoever to say to the navigation of the Alba- 
tross ; in vain Willie, true to the distasteful task which he 
had undertaken, endeavored to efface himself : there is no 
permissible method of shaking off a lady who is determined 
to cling to you, and Lady Lady Evelyn did not conceal her 
determination. 

“ Go away and steer,” she said to Mortimer, as soon as 
they were out of the harbor. “You want to steer — you 

21 


322 


MARCIA, 


know you do ! Added to which, I want to talk to Mr. 
Brett in private, so that there isn’t the slightest excuse for 
your remaining with us against your will.” 

Mortimer laughed rather ruefully, shrugged his shoulders 
"and walked aft. The day, to be sure, was still young, and 
he presumed that his opportunity would come later. But 
Willie, who was thus left in what seemed to be an enviable 
situation (for Lady Wetherby had lost no time in going 
below), was not much elated by it. For all his innocence, 
he could not but perceive that this openly avowed desire 
for his company was not really flattering. 

What do you want to talk to me about in private. 
Lady Evelyn ? ” he inquired, with a somewhat melancholy 
smile. 

“ That is just what I don’t know,” she replied candidly. 
“ However, I daresay I shall be able to think of something 
presently, and in the meantime we have got rid of our 
genial host, whom I don’t wish to have upon my hands for 
the entire day. Why are you back in Torquay, if one may 
ask ? Have you made your peace with your uncle, or have 
you quarreled with him? ” 

‘‘ I haven’t quarreled with him,” answered Willie, a 
little surprised ; “ I should be very sorry to do that.” 

“ Oh, you would ? I didn’t know. Of course you are 
quite right, and it is a dreadful mistake to quarrel with 
one’s bread and butter ; only I fancied somehow that you 
were the sort of person to throw away a fortune for an 
idea.” 

“ How do you mean ? ” inquired Willie. 

I only mean that, from what I have heard, you are 
doing rather a risky thing in irritating that old uncle of 
yours. I suppose your returning here, instead of staying 
with him, irritates him, doesn’t it? ” 

“ Oh, I hope not. He isn’t on speaking terms with my 
mother, and perhaps he would be better pleased if she were 
not upon speaking terms with me ; but he has been quite 
reasonable about it. He made conditions, as he had every 
right to do ; but I think he understands that some allow- 
ance must be made for human nature.” 

“ Well, if you have persuaded him that it is a part of 
human nature to revolt against arbitrary interference, that 
is very clever of you, and I trust he will leave you his 
money, notwithstanding your obstinacy. The one essen- 


MARCIA. 


323 


tial thing for all of us appears to be that we should get 
hold of money ; so long as we do that, we may make idiots 
of ourselves in other ways to our hearts’ content.” 

Willie said that was not at all his view of the whole duty 
of man — or woman. 

“ It’s mine, then. At least, I think it is. Ignoble, if 
you like, but necessary ; and a good deal -more necessary 
in the case of women than in the case of men. Men, after 
all, can earn their own living ; but women, or at any rate 
women of my class, can’t, and we are always taught that 
it is our chief duty to marry rich men. Mamma is as un- 
worldly as anybody whom I have ever met ; yet I know 
that that is her opinion, and that she will be grievously 
disappointed if I don’t act upon it.” 

“ Do you mean to act upon it ? ” Willie could not help 
asking. 

“ Am I bound to answer that question, Mr. Brett ? ” 

“Of course not. Only I think you rather invited it?” 

“ Oh, dear, no ; I was only inviting you to answer it for 
me. But you aren’t polite enough, or else you are too 
honest. Well, I know what you think, and I daresay you 
are right. I shall probably end by doing my duty. As 
far as that goes, I shall probably begin by doing it.” 

Nobody could speak more plainly, and it seemed to 
Willie that such candor fully entitled him to state in 
general terms what his views were with regard to loveless 
marriages. This he proceeded to do at some length and 
with no little earnestness, forgetting in the ardor of the 
controversy which ensued that he had not been invited to 
join the Albatross that day in order that he might engross 
the whole attention of the lady on whose account alone the 
yacht had left her moorings, 

Lady Evelyn, for her part, seemed to be equally obli- 
vious of the ill-used and impatient man at the wheel. She 
argued with a good deal of dexterity, and although she 
admitted the desirability of love-matches in the abstract, 
she gave it to be understood that she regarded them rather 
as lucky accidents than as objects to be aimed at. 

“ Don’t look so shocked and distressed,” said she ; “ we 
are what we have been brought up to be, and I wasn’t 
trained in a romantic school.” 

Willie sighed. “ You don’t speak as if you very much 
liked the school in which you were brought up,” he ven- 
tured to remark. 


324 


MARCTA, 


“ Oh, I like it or I dislike it — what does it matter? I am 
what I am, and things are what they are, and we can’t 
change them. Perhaps we have discussed the question 
long enough now.” 

They had certainly been discussing it for a good long 
time. The Albatross, running before a fresh breeze, was 
well out to sea, and Mortimer, who had been vainly endea- 
voring to catch his friend’s eye. contrived to do so now. 
He made an expressive grimace, which was rightly interpre- 
ted in the quarter to which it was addressed as meaning 
that this sort of thing was rather more than had been bar- 
gained for. Willie responded by a slight movement of his 
shoulders and eyebrows. It was no fault of his that he 
had been detained in a conversation which he had not 
sought ; still he felt a little guilty about it, and it seemed 
to him that his obvious duly was to efface himself. He 
therefore rose somewhat abruptly from the wicker chair in 
which he had been seated, murmuring something about its 
being time for him to take his share of the work. As a 
matter of fact, he did not gain possession of the tiller, 
because the skipper, who advanced at the same moment, 
would not allow him to do so ; but the effect of his man- 
oeuvre was to release Mortimer, and how could he help it 
if Lady Evelyn chose immediately to disappear down the 
companion ? 

“ You see how it is,” said Mortimer disconsolately, when 
the two young men were left on deck together ; she is 
evidently determined not to give me a chance if she can 
help it. Between you and me, Brett, I’ve half a mind to 
chuck the whole thing up ; goodness knows I don’t want 
to force myself upon anybody.” 

And, as his friend remained silent, he continued with a 
touch of irritability, “ What do you think yourself? What 
has she been talking about to you all this time ? Did she 
mention me ? ” 

“Not by name,” answered Willie hesitatingly. 

“ Oh, she did mention me by implication then ? I 
thought as much ! Well, you know, if it comes to her dis- 
cussing me with outsiders, it’s pretty plain that she can’t 
care about me personally, and I’m sure I don’t want to be 
accepted for any other reason. She told you that she was 
being urged to marry me by her mother, I suppose ? ” 

“ No, she didn’t say that,” answered Willie, endeavor- 
ing to combine truth with discretion. “ Somehow or other, 


MARCIA. 


325 


I don’t quite remember how, we got on the subject of mar- 
riage, and she talked as though income were the only im- 
portant consideration. But I really don’t know whether 
she meant what she said, and perhaps she wasn’t thinking 
about you at all. Hadn’t you belter go below and ask 
her ? I’m sure she will be honest with you if you do.” 

Mortimer was not quite so confident about that. Rightly 
or wrongly, he conceived that Lady Evelyn had given him 
a great deal of encouragement, and that her present con- 
duct was not only capricious but unfair. He was disin- 
clined either to give her the cheap triumph of having 
brought him to her feet and refused him, or to accept a 
success due solely to his rent-roll and his highly respect- 
■kble position in society. However, it need scarcely be 
said that he eventually acted upn the advice offered to him 
and descended into the main cabin, leaving Willie to study 
the appearance of the sky and the sea, which was becoming 
more and more threatening. 

Little enough did Willie care about the black, ragged 
cloud which was sweeping over Paignton and the white- 
crested waves by which the bay astern was beginning to be 
covered, though he stared at these portents as if they 
interested him profoundly. He knew, or thought he knew, 
very well what was going on beneath his feet at that 
moment. Lady Wetherby had made herself scarce — of 
course she would make herself scarce — Mortimer was 
pleading his cause ; Lady Evelyn was laughing and pretend- 
ing to be sceptical — was perhaps really feeling sceptical. 
But presently her scepticism would be vanquished ; she 
would realize that her lover was a good, kind-hearted fellow, 
that his love was not to be lightly rejected by one who, at 
all events, loved no one else better ; she would yield more 
or less reluctantly, and in a minute or two Mortimer would 
come up on deck, with a radiant countenance, to announce 
that it was “ all right.” 

Nothing, in truth, was more probable than the verifica- 
tion of this forecast ; yet, when Mortimer reappeared, his 
countenance was anything but radiant, and all he had to 
announce was that they must put back to Torquay at 
once. 

“ The old lady’s sick,” said he briefly and rather sulkily. 
“ I don’t see that there’s much excuse for it ; but sick she 
is, and though she swears she doesn’t mind, Lady Evelyn 


MARCIA, 


326 

insists upon her being put ashore. Well, I suppose it 
would be inhuman to refuse. Besides, Lady Evelyn won't 
leave her.” 

He gave the requisite instructions and sharply counter- 
manded his skipper’s orders to shorten sail. “ The sooner 
we get back into smooth water the better,” he said ; 
“ there’s a nasty squall coming up which sea-sick people 
wouldn’t like. We may just escape it if we look sharp.” 

“ I doubt we shan’t escape it, sir,” answered the skipper ; 
“ and we’re bound to carry away something if it catches 
us.” 

“ I don’t care if we carry away the mainmast,” returned 
Mortimer impatiently ; you won’t be held responsible, 
anyhow. Mind your head, Brett; we’re going about.” 

Like many other good-humored men, Mortimer was not 
disposed to tolerate opposition on those rare occasions 
when his good humor deserted him. His subordinates 
were doubtless aware of that ; otherwise he would hardly 
have been permitted under such a spread of canvas to 
steer as straight as the wind would allow for the black 
cloud which was now rushing towards them across the 
water, and which there was not the smallest probability of 
their avoiding. Indeed, ten minutes had not elapsed before 
the squall was upon them and the skipper’s prophecy had 
been fulfilled. 

What with the roaring of the wind, the driving rain and 
the showers of blinding spray, the few moments which 
followed were moments of confusion and bewilderment 
both for Mortimer and for the two ladies, who, startled by 
the sudden heeling over of the vessel and the crash of the 
falling topmast, had rushed up on deck to see what was the 
matter. Mortimer had to assure them that they were not 
in any danger, and that nothing worse had happened than 
the loss of a little gear, which was of no consequence at 
all. Something worse had happened ; but neither he nor 
they were aware of it until the deck had been cleared of 
the broken spar and the tangle of rigging which had come 
down with it. Then they saw that four of the hands were 
stooping over something or somebody, and Mortimer said, 
“ Hullo ! where’s Brett ? I hope he hasn’t been hurt.” 

He hurried forward, followed by the ladies ; though he 
waved them back, wishing to spare them a sickening spec- 
tacle. Willie lay under the bulwarks, where he had fallen, 


MAI^CIA, 


327 


drenched with salt water. His face was covered with 
blood, his head, which the men had raised a little, had 
fallen back, his eyes were vacant and glazed. 

“ Good God ! ” ejaculated Mortimer involuntarily, “ he’s 
dead ! ” 

“ I think he’s still breathin’, sir,” one of the men said, 

and the blood don’t seem to have stopped flowin’.” 

But if this was not actual death, it was so near an ap- 
proach to it as to be to all intents and purposes the same 
thing. A man whose skull has been split open is a dead 
man, whether he continues to breathe for a while or not, 
and so Lady Evelyn must have thought ; for in the pres- 
ence of such a calamity she became oblivious of everything 
and everybody else. 

“ Oh, my love ! ” she exclaimed, as, with clasped hands 
and dilated eyes, she gazed down upon the motionless 
figure at her feet. 

Her mother heard her ; so did Mortimer, and so did the 
crew. But she would not at that moment have cared if 
all the world had heard- her; nor indeed were her neigh- 
bors in a mood to be shocked by any breach of conven- 
tionality. So strong is our instinctive clinging to the 
existence 'Which we must all resign sooner or later, and so 
terrible does the premature death of a fellow-mortal appear 
to us, that when so great a catastrophe seems to be immi- 
nent, all other considerations sink into comparative insig- 
nificance in our eyes. In Mortimer’s head, at all events, 
there was for the time being only room for one idea, and 
probably Lady Wetherby felt very much as he did, 
although calmer reflection might have persuaded both of 
them that, if Willie Brett was dead, the misfortune was 
not quite the worst that could have fallen upon them. 

Willie, however, was not yet dead. He was perhaps 
going to die ; but as to that they could form no opinion. 
They got him down into the cabin and washed the deep, 
jagged wound upon his head and forced some brandy be- 
tween his white lips ; more than that their scant knowledge 
of surgery did not enable them to do. He remained rigid 
and unconscious, and they could but trust that they had 
not, through ignorance, neglected any means of restoring 
animation which ought to have been resorted to. 

Lady Evelyn neither gave assistance nor was asked for 
any^ She had sunk down upon a chair, where she sat, 


MAI^CTA. 


328 

unnoticed, staring straight before her in a dazed way, with 
her hands still tightly clasped. She only spoke once, 
when she inquired how long they would be in getting back 
to Torquay. 

“ I don’t know,” answered Mortimer, glancing at her 
and knitting his brows wonderingly for an instant ; “ not 
very long, I hope. But I’ll run up on deck and have a 
look at tlie weather.” 

The weather by this time had temporarily improved. 
The squall had passed out to sea, the sun was shining, 
and there was a brisk wind, although, unfortunately, it 
was a contrary one. The Albatross had suffered no dam- 
age beyond the loss of her topmast, and was making good 
headway; so that Mortimer, when he went below again, 
could give an encouraging report to the anxious ladies. 

Nevertheless, an interval which seemed to them inter- 
minable elapsed before Torquay harbor was made ; after 
which they had to endure another weary half-hour of wait- 
ing. But at length a doctor, who by good luck had been 
recognized and stopped near the quay, was brought on 
^oard, and his verdict, when he had made a hasty examin- 
ation of the patient, was not such as to exclude all hope. 

“ To the best of my belief,” said he, the injuries are 
not in then^elves fatal ; of course I can’t tell yet what the 
effect of the shock to the system may be. We must have 
him carried home and put to bed as soon as possible. 
Perhaps somebody will go on and prepare his friends. I 
think you said that his mother is living here ? ” 

“ I suppose I had better go,” observed Mortimer, with a 
rueful countenance. 

But Lady Wetherby, who during all this time had for- 
gotten the existence of such a malady as sea-sickness, and 
had behaved like the excellent and courageous creature 
that she was, unhesitatingly took upon herself a task which 
anybody might have been pardened for shirking. “ It will 
be easier for me to break the news to poor Marcia than it 
would be for you,” she said ; “ if you give me five minutes’ 
start, that will be quite enough, because you will have to 
drive slowly.” She added, in a lower voice, “ I shall put 
Evelyn into a fly and send her straight home ; she is too 
much upset to be of any use to you.” 

Lady Evelyn acquiesced without a word when she was 
told what was to be done with her, and as soon as the two 


MARCIA. 


329 


ladies had left the yacht, the doctor remarked, ‘‘ Now, that 
is what I call a good sensible woman. 1 only hope the 
poor young fellow’s mother may be like her.” 

“ As far as I can judge, Mrs. Archdale isn’t at all like 
Lady Wetherby,” Mortimer answered. “ However, I sup- 
pose it won’t very much matter if she does make a scene. 
He won’t recover consciousness for another hour or so, 
will he ? ” 

Oh dear no ; there isn’t the slightest chance of that. 
Indeed, now that we are alone, I may tell you that it is 
doubtful whether he will ever recover consciousness at all.” 


CHAPTER XLI. 

SIR GEORGE AS A DIPLOMATIST. 

In times of emergency people who usually pass for being 
rather weak and silly, are apt to astonish their betters, 
and Marcia’s behavior earned her golden opinions from 
the doctor and Mortimer when they arrived at her villa 
with their helpless charge. She was very pale, but she 
evidently realized that, if she was to be of any use, she 
must keep her nerves under control, and she did what she 
was told told to do quietly and silently. Also she and 
Lady Wetherby had made such preparations as were 
necessary j so that the patient was very soon placed under 
conditions as favorable to his recovery as any conditions 
could be. 

'Phe doctor, however, declined to commit himself to any 
statement as to the probability of recovery. “ It is very 
natural that you should ask me the question, my dear 
madam,” he said to Marcia not unkindly, “ and you are 
so composed and sensible that I would willingly tell you 
the truth if I knew it. Only it is quite impossible for me 
or anybody else to know it yet. I should like, if you please, 
to have a second opinion ; but I must warn you that at the 
best you will have to make up your mind to some days of 
uncertainty. That much is inevitable.” 

Nevertheless, the result of the consultation which was 
held that evening was, upon the whole, satisfactory, and 
when, on the following morning, her son began to show 


MARCIA, 


33 <> 

signs of returning consciousness Marcia, for one, felt sure 
that h2 would live. Certainly, if careful nursing can keep 
life in a man, Willie had every chance given to him ; for 
nothing could have exceeded his mother’s patient and 
unwearied devotion. Neither by day nor by night could 
she be persuaded to leave his bedside ; she seemed able 
to dispense with sleep ; she displayed a marvelous intuitive 
knowledge of all that he wanted ; and when by slow 
degrees his reason came back to him, she was more 
than rewarded by his helpless reliance upon her, and by 
the faint smile which from time to time gave evidence 
of his gratitude. She felt that her boy was once more hers 
and hers alone. Of course he would get well and strong 
again ; and then, perhaps, remembering these dark days, 
he would understand what apparently he had not altogether 
understood ofjate, that her love for him had never suffered 
change or diminution. 

Perhaps it was because they knew him to be in such 
admirable and competent hands that his friends at Malton 
Lodge abstained from calling personally at the house. 
They sent every day to inquire how he was going on, and 
received replies which presumably contented them. At any 
rate, they were not missed by Marcia, while Willie, for his 
part, was too weak and confused to think at all. He had 
no recollection of the accident ; he realized very little 
more than that he was ill and desperately tired, and that 
his mother was taking care of him. When at length he 
was pronounced out of danger and could talk for a few 
minutes at a time, and when the pain in his head became 
less wearing, he began to enjoy this irresponsible, irreflec- 
tive, dependent sort of existence, which was very much 
like a return to childhood. He asked no questions ; he 
was perfectly satisfied to lie there and be nursed and kissed 
and made comfortable. Only he was dimly aware of being 
on the old terms with his mother, which was perhaps as 
great a source of happiness to him as to her. 

But naturally such a state of things could not last, and 
one day, while Marcia was sitting beside him, waiting 
patiently for him to open his eyes, he said : “ Tell me all 
about it, mother. Have I had brain fever, or what has it 
been ? ” 

“No, dear; you have had an accident,” Marcia 
answered ; “ but we needn’t talk about it yet.” 


MARCIA, 


331 


I want to know, though,” he returned with something 
of the petulance which belongs to convalescence. “ I can’t 
remember any accident. We are at Torquay, aren’t we ? — 
and I have no horses here.” 

“ It wasn’t a hunting accident,” Marcia explained ; “ you 
were hurt on board Mr. Mortimer’s yacht. I can’t tell 
you exactly what happened, because I haven’t seen Laura 
Wetherby since she came to break the news to me, and I 
didn’t pay very much attention to what she said at the 
time j but I think it was the mast, or a bit of the mast, 
that was broken off by the wind and fell upon you. Really 
people ought not to have such flimsy masts ! ” 

“ Or such flimsy skulls,” Willie suggested, smiling. 

He resumed, after a pause : “ I think I am beginning to 
get hold of it now. I went out sailing with them, and we 
had to put back because Lady Wetherby was sea-sick, 
wasn’t that it ? ” 

“ I’m sure I don’t know,” answered Marcia; “ I didn’t 
ask for particulars. All they told me was that you had 
been more than half killed ; and there’s no harm in my 
saying now that you have been very near death. Oh, my 
own dear Willie, if you only knew how thankful I am, and 
how frightened I have been ! ” 

For the first time during his illness she broke down and 
burst into tears. Willie also had tears in his eyes, which, 
considering his weak state of health, did not, perhaps, 
di.sgrace his manhood ; and, naturally enough, the current 
of his ideas was diverted by the embraces and assurances 
of mutual love which, as a matter of course, followed. 
But currents which have been diverted return inevitably 
in the long run to their original set ; so that an interval of 
twenty minutes or so sufficed to bring the invalid back to 
the point of inquiring : “ Have you any news to give me 
about Lady Evelyn ? ” 

Marcia drew back at once and her voice changed. “ I 
suppose you want to know whether she is going to marry 
that man or not,” said she. I haven’t heard anything 
about it; but I should think she would marry him. Would 
you care so very much if she did ? ” 

Willie made no reply for several moments ; but at last 
he said : “ I hope she won’t. I can’t believe that she is 
really fond of him.” 

“ That means that you are fond of her. I was afraid of 
it, and I am very, very sorry that it is so. Oh, Willie, how 


332 


MARCIA. 


can you be so foolish ! The girl is neither pretty, nor nice, 
nor — nor anything ! If she has encouraged you, that is 
only because she is greedy of admiration, as almost all 
girls are. But what is the use of talking ? I should never 
convince you that I care a thousand times more for your 
little finger than she does for your whole body. Parents 
give and children take — that is one of the unalterable laws 
of nature, no doubt.” 

In all probability it is ; yet some parents give more 
than others and some children are exceptionally grateful. 
Willie, a4; all events, was not insensible to his mother’s 
loving care of him, nor was he disposed to cavil at the 
somewhat unreasonable form which her affection seemed 
to be taking. He had always understood her pretty well, 
and, although he himself was not of a jealous temper- 
ament, he could make allowance for those who were other- 
wise constituted. 

“It is quite possible to love more than one person at a 
time,” he said quietly. “One loves different people in 
different ways, I suppose ; but I know I shall never love 
anybody in the world in just the same way as I love you, 
mother. At one time I did think that you had forgotten 
me ; but I shan’t think so again, you may be sure. As for 
Lady -Evelyn, she never gave me any encouragement at 
all ; she was friendly and nothing more. I shall be sorry if 
she marries Mortimer, because, as I tell you, I don’t believe 
she is really fond of him ; but I am certain that she has 
not for one moment dreamt of marrying me.” 

“So am I,” Marcia declared, rather cruelly. “Still you 
don’t deny that you have dreamt of marrying her.” 

Everybody, surely, has a right to his dreams, however 
preposterous these may be, and Willie was about to put 
in a plea to that effect, when a knock at the door called his 
mother away. 

While this colloquy — which, it must be admitted, was 
hardly of a nature to soothe the nerves of a convalescent 
— had been going on, another had been taking place down- 
stairs between Mr. Archdale and a very unexpected 
visitor. Poor Archdale had had a bad time of it since 
his stepson’s accident. No attention whatever had been 
bestowed upon his personal comfort ; his existence had 
been virtually ignored, and the quality of the dinners 
set before him had deteriorated in a most heartrending 


MARCIA, 


‘ 333 


manner. He had made no complaint^ — partly, no doubt, 
because he had had nobody but Flossie to complain to — 
but he did feel that he was being rather hardly used, and 
he trusted that, as soon as Willie’s broken head should be 
healed, the young man would see the propriety of taking 
himself off. Hospitality, after all, does not mean the 
keeping of a private hospital. 

Now it came to pass that just as he was inwardly debat- 
ing whether it would not be right and kind to address a 
few lines to Blaydon Hall and to give other people a chance 
of helping to nurse the sick man, a card was brought to 
him which seemed quite like an answer to his unspoken 
prayer. He had not imagined that avuncular solicitude 
would bring Sir George Brett all the way down to Torquay ; 
but, since such was apparently the case, he congratulated 
himself and hurried out into the hall to extend a warm 
welcome to the new-comer. 

“ I am delighted to see you, Sir George,” said he. “ It 
is many years since we last met.” 

Sir George, who was holding his hat and stick in his right 
hand, may have thought that it would be rude to offer his 
left to Mr. Archdale. At all eVents he abstained from 
doing so and answered curtly : ‘‘ Yes, a good many years. 
Is it true that my nephew is lying in this house in a critical 
condition ? ” 

“ Please come' in and sit down,” said Archdale. “ No, 
I believe that your nephew’s condition is no longer con- 
sidered to be critical, though he has had a narrow squeak 
for it. I suspect that for the first two days the doctors 
thought it was all up with him ; but he has turned the cor- 
ner now, and perhaps a change of air, as soon as he is fit 
to travel ” 

“ I must say,” observed Sir George, who had remained 
standing, “ that I think a most extraordinary want of con- 
sideration has been shown for his aunt and myself. It was 
by mere chance that I heard of his accident through a 
paragraph in a weekly newspaper. Pray, sir, would you 
have thought it necessary to inform me of the circumstance 
if my nephew had died ? ” 

“ Undoubtedly I should,” replied Archdale urbanely ; 
“ indeed, to tell you the truth, I was just thinking of writ- 
ing to you when your card was given to me. I quite feel 
that you are entitled to an apology, though perhaps not 


334 


MARCIA. 


from me personally, because I am a mere cipher in this 
house, and, as I have scarcely seen my wife since that un- 
lucky day, I have had no means of knowing what has been 
done or left undone. Do sit down.” 

Sir George deposited himself upon a chair with an air of 
protest and reluctance. He hated holding any parley with 
this man ; but he had had a long journey and a terrible 
fright, and he was beginning to feel very tired. He said : 
“ I should like to see my nephew for a few minutes. 
There is no objection to my doing so, I presume ? ’’ 

“ None whatever, that I am aware of,” answered Arch- 
dale. “ I’ll ring and tell somebody to let my wife know 
that you are here. Meanwhile, you’ll have some tea or — 
or a brandy and soda or something, won’t you ? ” 

SirGeorge rather stiffly declined any refreshment, but said 
he would be glad to hear a more detailed account of the ac- 
cident than had come to his knowledge through the press. 
He was not, of course, told of one incident connected 
therewith which would have given him unfeigned satisfac- 
tion, because no revelation upon that delicate subject had 
been made to his informant ; yet, while he listened, his 
features relaxed, for he was thinking to himself that worse 
luck may befall a diffident suitor than to be half killed be- 
fore the eyes of the beloved one. He did not care to put 
more queries than he could help to Mr. Archdale, nor did 
he gratify that ill-used personage by intimating any inten- 
tion of removing his nephew from the premises ; but when 
he was conducted upstairs and encountered Marcia upon 
the landing, he unbent so far as to shake hands with 
her. 

“ I confess, Mrs. Archdale,” said he, “ that I am amazed 
at your having neglected to communicate with me either 
by telegram or letter ; still it is, I suppose, possible that 
this may have been due as much to anxiety and preoccu- 
pation as to heartlessness, and I feel that we owe you some 
thanks for your careful nursing of our poor boy.” 

He really meant to be gracious to a woman whom he 
disliked ; but, as may be imagined, his words were not 
relished by Marcia, who flushed angrily. 

“ He is not your poor boy,” she returned, “ and I don’t 
want to be thanked by anybody for having nursed my own 
son. As for my n®t having written to you, I was under 
the impression that you had refused to hold any communi- 
cation with us.” 


MARCIA. 


335 


Ordinary rules do not apply to extraordinary circum- 
stances,” observed Sir George. “ However, we will let 
that pass. Perhaps you will allow me to see Willie for a 
few minutes. I will not'remain with him longer than you 
may think advisable in his present state.” 

So moderate a request could scarcely be refused, though 
Marcia would fain have refused it. She said : “ You can 
go in for five minutes, if you like ; but he ought not to talk 
much, and I hope you will be very careful to say nothing 
that could excite or distress him.” 

Glancing at his watch. Sir George gave the required 
promise. Whatever may have been his shortcomings, he 
always kept his word, and precisely upon the expiration of 
the time allowed him, he emerged from the sick-room and 
rejoined Marcia, who, by dint of a vigorous call upon her 
reserve powers of generosity and self-control, had waited 
for him outside. He was so kind as to express once more 
the sentiments of gratitude which had already offended 
her. 

“ From what Willie has told me, and from what I myself 
have seen,” said he, “ I am convinced that nothing more 
could have been done for him than has been done. He is 
now, I hope, well advanced on the road towards recovery, 
and I shall lose no time in telegraphing to his aunt, who, 
as you will understand, is very anxious. I may possibly 
call again to-morrow morning ; but in any case I shall 
leave this by the afternoon express.” 

He then bowed ceremoniously and withdrew, leaving it 
to be inferred that, the circumstances having ceased to be 
extraordinary, he saw no reason for offering his hand a 
second time to a lady with whom he did not wish to be 
upon speaking terms. 

Marcia drew a long breath of relief when she heard the 
front door close behind him ; for she had been in mortal 
terror lest he should have come to insist upon Willie’s re- 
moval to Blaydon, and she had prepared herself for a 
struggle whence she had hardly expected to issue victo- 
rious. But, as things had fallen out, it seemed that there 
was little danger of her maternal privileges being infringed. 
“ After all,” she reflected, rather shabbily, “ I suppose 
neither he nor Caroline want to be burdened with an inva- 
lid. All they want is an heir, and I’m sure T don’t grudge 
them that. On the contrary, I should be only too de- 


33 ^ 


MARCIA. 


lighted if they would take themselves off and make room 
for him ! ” 

Sir George, for his part, went oAvay pretty well satisfied. 
He had honorably refrained from agitating his nephew ; 
but he had thought it permissible to put certain questions 
with reference to Lady Evelyn, and the answers which he, 
had received had been of a nature to render his own pro- 
per course of action quite clear to him. That, of itself, is 
always a source of legitimate satisfaction to the single- 
minded ; so that he returned to his hotel feeling far more at 
ease than he had been on leaving it, and, after having 
dispatched a reassuring telegram to Lady Brett, dined and 
slept well. 

Now, the course of action as to the propriety of which 
Sir George was so decided was one which many people 
might consider a trifle audacious ; but not many people are 
blessed with the comprehensive knowledge of the world 
and its inhabitants which Sir George Brett possessed. It 
was therefore without any misgivings that he ordered a fly 
on the ensuing morning and had himself driven up to Mal- 
ton Lodge ; nor was he at all surprised when the private 
interview with Lady Wetherby which he demanded was 
accorded to him. “ She knows well enough what has 
brought me here,” he thought to himself complacently, as 
he sat down and awaited her ladyship’s entrance. 

As a matter of fact. Lady Wetherby had not the faintest 
idea of what the man wanted. She came in presently and 
said how glad she had been to hear favorable reports of 
Willie’s condition ; after which she looked politely interro- 
gative. Sir George, who was before all things a man of 
business, came to the point at once. 

“ I do not wish to appear too abrupt, Lady Wetherby,” 
he began ; “ but I have not much time at my disposal, and 
I must beg you to excuse me if I don’t beat about the 
bush. The long and the short of it is that this nephew of 
mine is desperately smitten with your daughter. I daresay 
that is no news to you. Well, then, you will naturally ask 
what are his means and prospects, and I am ready to give 
you the fullest and most candid information.” 

Sir George accordingly went into figures of which the 
magnitude was sufficiently imposing, and wound up by 
asking : “ Now, what do you say. Lady Wetherby ? Are 
you with me so far ? ” 


MARCIA. 


337 


Lady Wetherby looked, as she felt, a good deal per- 
plexed. She had had no explanation with her daughter ; 
she did not know whether Evelyn was conscious of having 
made that involuntary and incriminating ejaculation on 
board the yacht ; she could not even tell for certain whe- 
ther it had been overheard by Mr. Mortimer, who was still 
in Torquay, but whose attentions had undoubtedly become 
less marked since the day of the accident. Her impression, 
however, was that her pet scheme was doomed to failure : 
added to which, she desired nothing more ardently than 
her daughter’s happiness — provided always that that result 
could be achieved by reasonable methods. Personally, 
she did not think that Willie Brett was quite well born 
enough to be her son-in-law ; still, if he was the man of 
Evelyn’s choice, and if he was to have all that money, she 
would not feel justified in turning her back upon him. To 
these conflicting sentiments she eventually gave utterance 
with much ingenuousness, admitting that she had noticed 
Willie’s attachment to her daughter, but making no secret 
of the obstacles which she saw in the way of the proposed 
match. 

“ I am not at all sure that my son would af)prove of it,” 
said she ; “ I cannot answer in any way for Evelyn herself, 
and, for my own part, I will tell you frankly that I have 
had other views ” 

“ Yes, yes ; I know all about that,” interrupted Sir 
George without ceremony ; “ but I am not going to admit 
that Willie is this Mr. Mortimer’s inferior. In point of 
pedigree he may be below him ; but that doesn’t count for 
a great deal in these days, and after what I have told you 
you will perceive that he will be a considerably more 
wealthy man — subject, that is, to conditions which I will 
specify presently. May I take it that, if my nephew can- 
not count upon your support, he can count at least upon 
your neutrality ? ” 

That word seemed to describe Lady Wetherby’s mental 
attitude correctly enough, and she signified her assent. 
“ But I hope you understand,” said she, “ that the deci- 
sion rests with my daughter, not with me. I have always 
thought that she had a right to choose for herself, and that 
I should have no right to thwart her, unless she chose a 
man of bad character, or one whose means were insuffi- 
cient/’ 


2% 


338 


MARCIA, 


“ Exactly so,” agreed Sir George approvingly — for in 
truth this was just what he had wanted Lady Wetherby to 
say. “ Well, I don’t think you will find a better or steadier 
young man in England than my nephew, and I have told 
you what his means will probably be. It now only remains 
for me to state my conditions, which I hope you will con- 
sider justifiable. Mrs. Archdale, I know, is an old friend 
of yours, so I will say nothing against her ; but as regards 
her husband, I am entitled to say behind his back what I 
should not hesitate to say to his face ; namely, that he is 
an idle spendthrift, and that I do not mean him to live in 
luxury upon his stepson for the rest of his days. He, or 
his wife — it doesn’t much matter which — has already bor- 
rowed money of Willie, and if that sort of thing is not 
nipped in the bud it is sure to go on and increase. Con- 
sequently, I have told Willie — and what I have said I shall 
stick to — that any future loan made by him to his mother 
will entail the loss of every penny that he would otherwise 
inherit at my death, and I may add that it would entail the 
forfeiture of the very handsome allowance that I propose 
to make to him upon his marriage.” 

“ And did jie agree to that ? ” inquired Lady Wetherby, 
a little taken back. 

“ I can’t say that he did. He is not wanting in common 
sense ; but he is young and does not know the value of 
money. Moreover, he is fond of his mother — having seen 
nothing of her since he was a child.” 

I don’t think we can fairly blame him for being fond 
of his mother,” observed Lady Wetherby, laughing. 

It isn’t a question of praise or blame ; it is a question 
of whether he is to be allowed to make a fool of himself or 
not. It is also a question of whether he is to be allowed 
to make a fool of me, and to that I am ready with a deci- 
sive reply. I can devote my money to more useful pur- 
poses than the maintenance of the Archdale family.” 

“Well, but,” objected Lady Wetherby, “ if he won’t 
make a promise which I really doubt whether I should 
make if I were in his place, what is to be done ? ” 

^ “ Simply this,” answered Sir George : “ he must be 
given to understand that unless he complies with my con- 
ditions, he may as well give up all hope of ever winning 
Lady Evelyn. He will not throw his mother overboard to 
please me or to get my money : as I tell pu, he is young 


MARCIA. 


339 


and, in some respects, foolish. But throwing the girl 
whom he loves overboard will be quite another matter. I 
merely wish to be able to tell him upon your authority that 
you will not consent to your daughter’s marriage with a 
pauper, and in telling him so I shall not exceed the limits 
of truth, I^believe ? 

“ It is true that I do not think Evelyn would be happy 
as the wife of a poor man,” answered Lady Wetherby 
slowly. “ At the same time, I do not quite like threaten- 
ing him with sucli a severe punishment for doing what I 
suppose we all feel that our children ought to do for us. I 
know very little about Marcia Archdale’s circumstances ; 
but they may be worse than I imagined. Suppose she 
were to fall into a state of absolute destitution ? ” 

“ My dear madam,” answered Sir George, “ her husband 
can support her perfectly well if he chooses to work; but 
he won’t work unless, he is driven to it. That is the long 
and the short of the whole matter. As for me, I am an old 
man ; I cannot expect to live for more than another ten 
years, though I may reasonably expect to live as long, and 
It is hardly possible for me to place restrictions upon the 
spending of my fortune after my death. But in ten years’ 
time Willie will know a good deal more than he knows now. 
For the present I must be firm. I have put my terms be- 
fore you: may I ask whether they meet with your appro- 
val?” 

“ I don’t think I can say any more than I have said,” 
Lady Wetherby replied, after a moment of consideration. 
“ It is my duty to insist, so far as I can, upon adequate 
provision being made for my daughter; but any under- 
standing that may be entered into between you and your 
nephew is your concern. I would rather not be mixed up 
in it.” 

“ That is enough,” Sir George declared. “ I feel that 
my position is now very greatly strengthened, and I will 
not trespass any farther upon your time.” 

He added some formal words of thanks and withdrew, 
quite pleased with the diplomatic ability which he believed 
himself to have displayed. If the lever which he now held 
under his hand was not powerful enough to jerk that young 
man clean out of the rut of mistaken filial sentiment, why 
then the young man must be such a consummate fool 
that no sane person w'ould dream of leaving him a for- 
tune. 


340 


MARCIA, 


\ 


CHAPTER XLIL 

MORTIMER TAKES LEAVE. 

Sir George went straight off to demand a farewell inter- 
view with his nephew, which Marcia, who received him, 
willingly sanctioned. If all he wanted was to say good- 
bye, he might do that, and welcome. She would doubtless 
have shown herself less amenable had she divined the true 
nature of his errand ; but, little though she liked her bro- 
ther-in-law, she did not give him credit for such malignant 
ingenuity as was implied in his present system of tactics, 
and of course it was none of his business to enlighten her. 
But with Willie Sir George was quite straightforward and 
plain-spoken. 

“ Now, my boy,” said he briskly, “ as he seated himself 
by the bedside, with a hand on each knee, “ I’ve brought 
you a piece of good news which will do more for you than 
all the doctor’s tonics, I hope. I’ve just been having a 
little talk with Lady Wetherby about your love-affairs, and 
I’m glad to tell you that she agrees with me in thinking you 
a very eligible suitor for her daughter’s hand.” 

Willie’s large eyes, which looked unnaturally large now 
that his face had become so pale and thin, grew larger still, 
and a sudden light leapt into them. “ Did she really say 
that ? ” he asked breathlessly. 

“ Why in the world shouldn’t she, you silly fellow ? I 
told her what your prospects were, I told her what I was 
prepared to do for you on your marriage, and, like a sensi- 
ble woman as she is, she admitted that you are not the sort 
of fish that one lands and then throws back into the water. 
In point of fact, she took precisely the view which I was 
sure that she would take. Upon the understanding that 
you are to be my hefr you may pay your addresses to Lady 
Evelyn ; but not otherwise. I explained to her that you 
would certainly be my heir, subject to the one condition 
that you know of. Under the circumstances, I hope and 


MARCIA. 


34t 


beliex^e that you will see the absolute necessity of comply- 
ing with that condition ; but I don’t wish to argue about 
it. I prefer to leave the matter in your hands, only assur- 
ing you that neither LaSy Wetherby nor I can alter our 
decision.” 

Willie, for his part, had no inclination to argue. His 
brain still worked feebly, and just now it was fully occupied 
with the amazing fact that Lady Wetherby had consented 
upon any terms to hear of him as a wooer. 

“ I can’t understand it,” he said, after a pause. “ Has 
Lady Wetherby refused Mortimer, then ? Did you see 
her?” 

“ Oh, no,” answered Sir George, laughing ; “ I can deal 
with old ladies, but you must undertake the young ones. 
I didn’t inquire whether Mr. Mortimer had been refused 
or not ; but it is evident that he hasn’t been accepted, so 
you may draw your own conclusions from that. I should 
say that you had nothing to do but to get well as quickly 
as you can and then go in and win. Don’t you fall into 
the mistake of undervaluing yourself, young man ; Lady 
Evelyn won’t do badly when she marries you, you may 
depend upon it.” 

Willie had very little to say in reply to this encouraging 
assurance, nor did he pay much heed to his uncle’s final 
exhortation, which, when summed up, amounted only to a 
solemn warning against the folly of quarreling with one’s 
bread and butter. 

“ Understand me,” Sir George concluded ; “ I do not 
ask you to do anything shabby or mean. Such an accident 
and illness as you have had must necessarily entail consi- 
derable expense, and it would not be fair that this should 
fall upon Mrs. Archdale. Indeed, I should be very sorry 
to think that you or I were in any way indebted to her. 
I have therefore written a cheque in your favor for X200, 
which ought to be sufficient to pay the doctor and compen- 
sate her for any outlay that she may have incurred. If it 
is not, you can let me know. What I will not permit is 
that her husband should look upon you as a possible source 
of income ; and the sooner you make that clear to him the 
better.” 

After Sir George had taken his departure Willie had 
leisure to think matters over (for Marcia had been waylaid 
by her husband, who wanted to know how long this pre- 


34 ^ 


MARCIA. 


posterous manner of life was likely to last, and had to be 
pacified at some expenditure of time and patience). Well, 
amid so much that was uncertain, J;here stood out one great 
and indisputable fact : Lady Wetherby was no longer 
opposed to his candidature. To what this unexpected 
change of front might be due, Willie could not conjecture 
— possibly to Mortimer’s rejection, possibly to the golden 
promises held out by his uncle. But, whatever might be 
its cause, its importance, taken in conjunction with the 
equally important fact that during all this time Lady Eve- 
lyn had not plighted her troth elsewhere, could hardly be 
overrated. And then, as was but natural, he began to ask 
himself whether the stipulation imposed upon him was of 
so unjust a nature that he could not submit to it. He 
remembered Drake’s warning ; he himself doubted the ab- 
stract wisdom of supplying his lazy stepfather with funds ; 
moreover, his own resources would not enable him to do 
this, except to a very limited extent, while his uncle’s 
would not, of course, be available for such a purpose. 
Upon the whole, it seemed as if he might very fairly 
represent that he was fettered by the unalterable decision 
of others. 

However, he said nothing about all this to his mother, 
who, when she came into the room, was too full of her 
personal grievances to ask questions. 

From that day forward Willie’s convalescence proceeded 
rapidly. He was very eager to get well, very eager for 
news of his friends at Malton Lodge, and all the more so 
after he heard from his mother that Lady Wetherby had at 
last been to call. It did not appear that Lady Wetherby 
had said anything worthy of record in the course of her 
visit, and she had not been accompanied by her daughter ; 
still, the mere circumstance that she had walked up to the 
house was not without significance, and Willie made so 
bold as to request that when she next came he might be 
allowed to see her. For that privilege he waited in vain ; 
but, one mild, sunny morning, when he was lying on his 
sofa beside the wmdow, which, despite the advanced season 
of the year, had been thrown open for his benefit, a visitor 
was announced whom he was almost, if not quite, as glad 
to see. 

“ Well, old man,” said Mr. Mortimer, shaking him heart- 
ily by the hand, “ you’ve had a rough time of it, haven’t 
you ? But you’re pretty well all right again now, eh ? 


MARCIA, 


343 


“ I shall be soon, they tell me,” answered Willie ; “ but 
I can’t walk yet, and I am as weak as a cat. Still I believe 
I’m round the corner. Sit down and tell me the news. 
What have you been doing with yourself all this long 
time ? ” 

“ Oh, I don’t know,” answered Mortimer. “ Playing 
golf — loafing about — one thing and another. I should 
have hooked it long ago, only I didn’t like to go till I was 
sure you were out of danger ; you see, I feel that I’m in a 
sort of way responsible for your misfortune, though good- 
ness knows I wouldn’t have had such a thing happen for 
a thousand pounds. However, I think I can safely take 
my ticket now ; and in point of fact I’ve come to say good- 
bye. I’m off to-morrow morning to do a few weeks of 
shooting. I hear first-rate accounts from my keeper. I’m 
glad to say ; so I hope to get some fellows down and have 
a good time.” 

It was noticeable that his manner was somewhat unna- 
turally jovial, and that after the first moment he showed 
a disinclination to look his friend in the face. The latter 
felt that it was quite out of his power to keep up a conver- 
sation upon indifferent topics : so, at the risk of giving 
offence, he asked presently — 

“ How have things gone with you, Mortimer? ” 

Oh, middling well, thank you,” replied the other ; “ I 
haven’t much to complain of, except an overdose of Tor- 
quay. I doubt whether I shall ever revisit this enchanting 
spot.” 

“ You know what I mean,” persisted Willie ; “ you can’t 
have forgotten what you said to me the day before we went 
out in the yacht. Has she refused you? ” 

“ Hasn’t had the chance, my dear boy. When one is 
perfectly certain of being refused, one takes the liberty of 
sparing oneself an unpleasant five minutes. I freely admit 
that I’ve been as blind as a bat and as stupid as an owl ; 
but more by good luck than good guidance, I did discover 
just in time that I might about as well propose to the Em- 
press of China as to Lady Evelyn. I suppose you knew 
that all along. Or didn’t you know ? ” 

Willie shook his head. “ How could I know ? ” he asked, 
I thought she would most likely accept you ; only, to 
tell the truth, I didn’t think she was exactly in love with 
you.” 


344 


MAUCTA. 


“ H’m ! that isn’t over and above complimentary to her ; 
but you can make her an apology if you like, because, you 
see, you did her an injustice.” 

“ I suppose I did,” said Willie meditatively ; “ but, as 
she doesn’t know that I was unjust, and probably wouldn’t 
care if she did know, I don’t think I’ll risk the imper- 
tinence of an apology. From what she said I gathered 
that she liked you without being in love with you, and that 
she considered that sufficient for all intents and purposes. 
Personally, I can’t believe that mere liking is sufficient ; 
and that’s why I won’t pretend to be sorry for you, Mor- 
timer.” 

‘‘ Have I asked you to be sorry for me ? ” Mortimer in- 
quired. I should have been very sorry for myself if 
she had accepted me only because I am more or less a 
matrimonial prize ; but I am glad to say that I don’t be- 
lieve she ever contemplated anything of the sort. You 
apparently do.” 

Willie could not deny that he had so believed. In his 
own mind he had made many excuses for the girl whom he 
loved ; but he did not feel much inclined to state these by 
way of excusing himself, and it looked as though a conver- 
sation which at the outset had promised to be interesting 
would not leave him much wiser with regard to Lady 
Evelyn than he had been before. But Mortimer, after 
sitting silent for a few moments, startled him by resuming 
suddenly — 

“ I say, Brett, I want you to tell me something. You 
needn’t unless you choose ; only I took you into my con- 
fidence, you know, so it -isn’t an unpardonable piece of 
presumption to ask for yours. Are you yourself in love 
with Lady Evelyn ? ” 

Nobody altogether enjoys answering a question of that 
kind; but Willie could not help feeling that his questioner 
was entitled to an honest reply, and this he accordingly 
gave, getting rather red in the face over it and stammering 
a good deal. “ But I hope you understand,” he added, 
“ that I never meant to deceive you. I would have told 
you the truth before ; only I didn’t see what possible 
difference it would make to you. And indeed I don’t see 
now.” 

_ “ That’s all right, old chap,” said Mortimer, holding out 
his hand with good-humored magnanimity. “ I only 


MAkCtA, 


345 


Wanted to know ; I didn’t suspect you of having been any- 
thing but perfectly straight with me. As you say, your 
telling me wouldn’t have made a bit of difference. I should 
have proposed all the same, because, to be quite frank, I 
shouldn’t have thought much of your chances. I think a 
good deal of them now ; I think you will get what you 
want, and — and I’m sincerely glad of it. * What’s the use 
of being a dog in the manger? Being out of the hunt 
oneself isn’t a reason for grudging another man his luck, 
especially when he’s a good fellow, as you are.” 

This was really handsome behavior, and so Willie 
thought. He tried, so far as Anglo-Saxon reticence would 
allow him, to express his appreciation of it, and he also 
tried, as all of us probably would have done in his place, 
to find out what reason his friend had for speaking with 
such confidence. These latter efforts, however, met with 
no success. Mortimer would only say that he had taken 
note of certain trifling incidents, and had drawn his own 
deductions therefrom. He was not prepared to reveal, nor 
in truth could he honorably have revealed, a secret which 
had been involuntarily betrayed in his presence. 

Nevertheless, he was extremely friendly and encouraging ; 
so much so that after a time Willie, taking heart of grace, 
confided to him the dilemma in which he found himself, 
owing to the restrictions placed upon him by his uncle, 
and asked for his advice. 

“ You see,” said he, “ it just comes to this : even sup- 
posing that you are right and that Lady Evelyn would take 
me if I asked her, I can’t possibly ask her without binding 
myself down never to lend another sixpence to my mother. 
I’ve tried to see my way to making that promise, but the 
more I think of it the less I like it. It will be too abomin- 
ably selfish and ungrateful. Now, don’t you think it 
would ? ” 

“ Oh, you couldn’t do it if your mother were in a condi- 
tion of penury,” Mortimer agreed ; “ but I should think 
she was a very long way removed from that. Why, her 
husband’s pictures are worth any amount of money, aren’t 
they ? ’* 

“ I believe he gets fair prices ; but he doesn’t seem to 
paint much, and, as far as I can make out, he spends all 
that he gets. Of course, if you live beyond your income 
you must be in trouble, whether your income is large or 
small.” 


34 ^ 


MARCIA, 


“ Ah, well, that alters the case. You aren’t bound to 
help Mr. Archdale to live beyond his income, and you 
certainly aren’t bound to ruin yourself in the attempt. It 
looks to me as if your uncle had pretty well settled the 
question for you. He says, ‘ If you won’t give me your 
word not to spepd my money in a certain way, you shan’t 
have the money at all.’ Well, there you are. If Mrs. 
Archdale is a rational human being, she’ll understand that 
you would be delighted to accommodate her if you could, 
but that you can’t. Besides, Lady Evelyn has some claim 
to be considered. I suppose you care more for her than 
you do for your mother, don’t you ? At all events, you 
ought.” 

Willie nodded assent, though he did not feel entirely 
satisfied. The advice given to him was just what he, or 
anybody else, would have given under the circumstances ; 
yet he shrank from acting upon it. To be sure, there was 
no need for him to take immediate action. The first thing 
to be done was to ascertain whether he really had any 
prospect of succeeding with Lady Evelyn, and this Mortimer 
urged him to do without delay. 

“ The sooner you are put into a fly or a bath-chair or 
something and trundled over to Mai ton Lodge the better,” 
was the opinion of that sage and generous counsellor ; “ it 
won’t do for you to lie here, fretting yourself to fiddle- 
strings. Not that there is anything to fret about, because 
it will be all right, you’ll find. Well, good-bye, Brett ; we 
shall meet again one of these days, I hope, but I don’t 
mean to turn up at your wedding. There are some things 
that one would a little rather hear about than see, you 
know.” 


CHAPTER XLIII. 

WILLIE BREAKS BOUNDS. 

Mortimer, on going downstairs, thought it would be only 
civil to say good-bye to Mrs. Archdale, who seemed to be 
somewhat surprised at the news of his impending departure. 
She said she supposed he would be back again soon, and 
when he replied that he had no intention of returning, she 


MARCIA, 


347 


raised her eyebrows and considerately abstained from 
putting further questions. There was, however, no reason 
why she should not question her son, and this she took an 
early opportunity of doing. 

“ What does this sudden flight mean ? ” she asked point- 
blank. “ Is he running away because he has thought 
better of it, or has the girl really rejected him ? I don’t 
believe she would do that — she is too fully alive to her own 
interests ; because, although Mr. Mortimer doesn’t happen 
to have a title, lie is better off than a good many peers, 
and she is no such great beauty that she can afford to 
throw away her chances.” 

But Willie steadily refused to be drawn. Ignorant 
though he was of the first principles of the art of dissimu- 
lation, he at least knew how to hold his tongue, and that 
useful capability he now exercised ; so that his mother 
could get no more out of him than an admission that Mor- 
timer had told him something. 

“ But I don’t think I ought to repeat what he told me,” 
the young man added ingenuously, “ so I’d rather you 
didn’t ask me, please.” 

He had very sensibly resolved to keep his own counsel 
for the present. Mortimer, after all, could not possibly 
know what he professed to be so certain of, nor was it 
worth while to raise a discussion about circumstances which 
might never occur. The main thing was to get up sufficient 
strength for an expedition as far as Malton Lodge ; and, 
aided by this spur to recovery, as well as by the unusual 
mildness of the autumn weather, he was able in the course 
of a few days to obtain permission from the doctor to take 
a short drive in a pony-chair. The next step was to sug- 
gest, in an innocent sort of way, an object for that drive, 
and, as he had anticipated, his suggestion was not imme- 
diately accepted by his mother. 

“ Why should you want to go there ? ” she inquired sus- 
piciously. “It will tire you very much to walk in and out 
of the house, and I really don’t see what right they have to 
expect that your first visit should be paid to them. They 
haven’t taken any very great trouble about you all this 
time, I’m sure. Oh, I know they have sent a servant to 
ask how you were getting on — they could hardly do less. 
Laura has only once been to see me, though.” 

But as Willie averred that he had a fancy for calling upon 
Lad^ Wetherby, and as an invalid’s fancies n^ust be 


MARCIA, 


348 

humored, she ended by yielding a grudging assent. Perhaps 
she may have reflected that her presence must necessarily 
lend a formal and colorless character to the forthcoming 
interview — a fact of which Willie also was regretfully aware. 
Still, he could not as yet propose to dispense with his 
mother’s escort, and half a loaf is better than no bread. 

Half a loaf, indeed, was all that was vouchsafed to him 
upon that occasion ; for although both Lady Wetherby and 
her daughter were at home, and although he was welcomed 
with no little warmth and kindliness, not a single chance 
was given him of exchanging anything but the most com- 
monplace remarks with the younger lady. Lady Evelyn 
was not in the drawing-room when he and his mother were 
announced ; but she entered presently, and whether she was 
or was not conscious that three pairs of eyes were fixed 
upon her eagerly and questioningly, she behaved herself in 
such a manner as to completely baffle their unspoken 
queries. She was, to all appearance, quite calm and self- 
possessed ; she bestowed a smile and a hearty shake of the 
hand upon Willie, congratulating him on his restoration to 
health ; after which she sat down beside him and began to 
talk about the weather, which was certainly warm enough 
to merit remark. 

Now, it is evident that, unless she had been an abso- 
lute idiot, she would not have acted in any other way, 
whatever her secret sentiments might have been ; but that 
did not prevent her mother and Marcia from being puzzled, 
nor Willie from being a little chilled. Not until the moment 
of his departure did she see fit to raise his spirits in some 
degree by remarking — 

“The next time that you pay us a visit, which will be 
very soon, I hope, you must try to accomplish the journey 
on foot. It is really no distance, if you come in by the 
garden-gate.” 

“ He is quite unfit to walk alone,” broke in Marcia, with 
some asperity, before Willie could make any reply ; “ noth- 
ing would induce me to let him attempt such an impossi- 
bility ! ” 

“ Oh, it won’t be an impossibility much longer,” returned 
Lady Evelyn sweetly. “ Besides, there is no need for him 
to attempt it alone. You can come with him, you know, 
so as to be prepared to run and catch him if he falls.” 

Marcia not only thought this an impertinent speech, but 
was convinced that it was intentionally so — as, to tell the 


MARCIA. 


349 


truth, it may have been. As she walked away beside her 
son’s pony-chair she descanted, not for the first time, upon 
the atrocious manners of “ that girl,” declaring that she 
could hardly find it in her heart to pity her for having been 
jilted by Mr. Mortimer, though of course such experiences 
must be very mortifying. 

“ A girl may turn a man’s head for a time by throwing 
herself at it,” she remarked, “and she may make him 
angry or miserable by getting up flirtations with other 
people ; but unless he is a very foolish man indeed, tactics 
of that kind will never persuade him to marry her.” 

Possibly that may be so ; but what is a good deal more 
certain is that no man was ever restrained from marrying 
by the system of tactics which had apparently recommended 
itself to Marcia. Nor, for the matter of that, would any 
conceivable system of tactics have restrained Willie from 
walking up to Malton Lodge the very first moment that he 
could trust his legs to carry him thither. Two days later 
he successfully performed the feat, having, in a most un- 
worthy manner, given his mother the slip in order to do 
it. It was, no doubt, very wrong of him to pretend that he 
was only going to take a turn round the garden while she 
occupied herself for half an hour with the household affairs 
which she had neglected for so long ; still, moralists have 
always held that, if ever deception is justifiable, it is so in 
the case of a prisoner who is trying to escape, and without 
some recourse to duplicity Willie did not see what hope 
there could be of his securing Lady Evelyn’s private ear 
for a minute or two. 

He thought himself very lucky when he approached the 
lower entrance to Malton Lodge and descried Lady Evelyn 
pacing up and down the gravel walk which adjoined it, and 
sunning herself in such warmth as is obtainable on a fine 
November day in these latitudes ; but perhaps if he had 
been a little more sharp and a little lest modest, he might 
have drawn obvious deductions from the circumstance that 
Lady Wetherby’s garden-gate opened only from the inside. 
Whether he was expected or not, his arrival called forth no 
expressions of surprise from the young lady who admitted 
him, and who remarked laughingly — 

“You have broken loose, then? I thought you would.” 

With a somewhat guilty air, Willie avowed that he had 
broken bounds, His mother, he explained, did not realize 


350 


MARCIA, 


how much stronger he was growing every day, and as he 
was now quite fit to take care of himself, he had thought 
it best to avoid needless discussions by the logic of an ac- 
complished fact. He ventured furthermore to remark 
that one couldn’t talk very comfortably when one knew 
that somebody was listening to every word one said. 

Lady Evelyn fully concurred. 

“ It was only the presence of our respective mothers that 
kept me from asking you a hundred questions the other 
day,” she observed. 

“ I shall be delighted to give you a hundred answers 
now,” returned Willie promptly. 

She did not really wish for quite so large a number as 
that ; in point of fact, there was but one point which she 
was specially desirous to have cleared up. This, however, 
could not be brought forward in a direct fashion, so that it 
had to be led up to by degrees, and was only reached after 
Willie had taken an amount of walking exercise of which 
his mother certainly would not have approved. He was 
made to give a detailed description of his illness, and to 
state what recollection he had of the accident which had 
befallen him — whence it appeared that he knew next to 
nothing about that. 

“ The last thing that I can remember,” said he, “ is being 
told that Lady Wetherby was sea-sick, and that we should 
have to put back. What happened after that I have no 
idea.” 

“ But of course Mr. Mortimer must have told you,” 
observed Lady Evelyn ; “ I know he went to say good-bye 
to you and stayed ever so long.” 

“ Yes, but we didn’t talk much about the accident ; all I 
know I heard from my mother, who could only give me a 
vague account.” 

“You didn’t talk about the accident ! How extraordi- 
nary of you ! I suppose he said something about it, though 
— how frightened we were, and — and — so forth ? We all 
thought you were dead, you know.” 

But Willie replied that he had neither asked for nor 
received any particulars. His face, of which Lady Evelyn 
could obtain a sufficient view out of the corner of her eye, 
showed that he was speaking the truth, and, since he did 
not wish to be cross-examined as to that conversation of 
his with Mortimer, he was not sorry when she abruptly 


MARCIA. 


35 ^ 


dropped the subject. What he was rather sorry for was 
that she manifested no inclination to introduce a fresh one. 
She discovered all of a sudden that the air was cold, not- 
withstanding the sunshine, and that he ought not to be 
allowed to stand about any longer. 

“ Come indoors and see mamma,” said she. “ Then you 
can rest a little, and if you don’t feel equal to the walk 
back, we’ll send for the pony-chair.” 

Of course he had to obey orders. If he had had no reason 
so far to be dissatisfied with his reception, it assuredly had 
not been of a nature to confirm the assurances of Mortimer, 
about whom Lady Evelyn took occasion, during the short 
walk to the house, to speak in terms of high commenda- 
tion. He was a thorough gentleman, Willie was told, and 
a most kind-hearted and unselfish fellow into the bargain : 
anybody might be proud to have such a friend. She added 
that she had missed him greatly since his departure, and 
would have regretted that event still more if she had not 
known that the poor man was wearied to death of Torquay. 

“ He was as good as gold and never complained,” she 
said ; “ but, for all his politeness, he couldn’t quite conceal 
his delight when he was told that you were out of danger 
and that he might go away and shoot.” 

Lady Wetherby greeted her visitor kindly. She had 
made up her mind to what seemed to be inevitable, and 
was not discontented upon the whole ; after all, things 
might have been very much worse. Only she hoped that 
the young people would soon come to an understanding ; 
because suspense is always disagreeable, and she foresaw 
that she would have to take their side against her son and 
the rest of the family. Spectators are apt to be impatient 
under such circumstances, forgetting that what is obvious 
to them is not likely to be by any means as obvious to the 
persons more directly concerned. 

As for Willie, he contemplated nothing so audacious as 
an immediate avowal of his love. He went away neither 
elated nor depressed, yet feeling that, all things considered, 
he had a right to congratulate himself ; for, if he had 
gained nothing else, he had gained an explicit invitation to 
walk up to Malton Lodge as often as he might be inclined 
to do so. That, he thought, would be every day. 

Meanwhile, Marcia, who had been adding up her ac- 
counts and had found the process as dispiriting as such 


352 


MARCIA. 


processes usually are, was in no mood to make light of his 
escapade. 

“ Oh, it is quite unnecessary for you to tell me where 
you have been,” said she, interrupting the timid avowal 
upon which he embarked ; “of course I guessed at once 
what had become of you. Why you didn’t tell me honestly 
where you were going, instead of sneaking off as if you 
were ashamed of yourself, I can’t imagine. Naturally, you 
are tired of seeing nobody but me ; I quite expected that 
it would come to that ; besides, you are well enough to do 
without me now.” 

It was no easy task to pacify her, and Willie had to give 
evidence of unaffected contrition, as well as to protest the 
sincerity of his affection for her again and again, before she 
would admit that she might perhaps have wronged him by 
her suspicions. 

“ I suppose the truth is that I am getting old and ill- 
tempered,” she sighed tearfully at length. “ Well, I have 
enough to make me so, Tm sure ! I wonder why it is that 
bills are always and invariably so much higher than one 
expects them to be ! ” 

“ Bills are sure to be high when one has a troublesome 
invalid to provide for,” said Willie ; and he thought, this a 
good opportunity to mention that his uncle had handed 
him a couple of hundred pounds in payment of the ex- 
penses which she had incurred ou his behalf. 

Marcia began by indignantly refusing to touch Sir 
George’s money, but accepted it when Willie pointed out 
that the money had been offered not to her but to him. 
The distinction, perhaps, did not imply any great differ- 
ence, and the sum was certainly in excess of her disburse- 
ments ; but she was beginning to discover that pride is a 
luxury which goes ill with poverty. Moreover, she did not 
want to be proud with Willie, for whose sake she would 
gladly have spent any amount of money, if she had had it 
to spend. Nevertheless, she felt rather ashamed of herself 
as she pocketed the cheque which her son wrote out for 
her, and she registered an inward vow that there should be 
no further pecuniary transactions between them. Cecil, 
who had been grumbling about expense, would not be able 
to grumble any more after this. Nor would it be necessary 
to apologize for retaining Willie as a visitor until the ex- 
piration of his leave. 


MARCIA. 


353 


She said something to that effect, and it must be con- 
fessed that Willie was immensely relieved to hear her say 
it. He had been wanting to tell her, yet had felt that he 
never could be brutal enough to tell her, what were the 
conditions upon which he might hope to be nominated as 
his uncle’s heir. He would have liked, had it seemed in 
any way possible, to mention them even now. But surely 
this declaration of hers absolved him from the performance 
of so unpalatable a task. If she really did not mean to beg 
or borrow of him again, it would be insulting as well as 
needless to inform her that she could not do so without 
bringing upon him a calamity much heavier than the loss 
of an estate and a large income. So he held his peace, 
and friendly relations were re-established, and Marcia, 
being freed from immediate anxiety, managed to shut her 
eyes to the patent fact that there was somebody in Torquay 
whom her son loved better than he loved her. 

For some days after this, peace and contentment reigned 
in the house of Archdale. Marcia had always been toler- 
ably clever at declining to see what she did not wish to see ; 
the weather continuing mild, she took her son out for drives 
in the afternoon- in a hired victoria (for which he paid), and 
it pleased her to abstain from inquiring how and where his 
mornings were spent. Every day, after breakfast, he 
strolled up to Malton Lodge ; every day Lady Evelyn, who 
happened to be inspecting the chrysanthemums, admitted 
him through the garden-gate, and every day he had a short 
walk and talk with her. No reader could peruse with 
patience an account of what passed during these interviews. 
Such readers as have ever been in love (which is much the 
same thing as saying all readers) will readily understand that 
the subjects discussed during them were neither interesting 
in themselves nor treated after a fashion to interest out- 
siders j yet they will understand not less readily that, after 
two or three perfectly commonplace conversations, Willie’s 
heart began to beat high with hope. Indeed, he had almost 
made up his mind that the time had come for him to speak 
out boldly, when an incident occurred which materially 
altered his views of the whole situation. 


23 


354 


MARCIA, 


CHAPTER XLIV. 

MATERNAL AND FILIAL LOVE. 

It is safe to say of the majority of mankind that the course 
of their lives has been or will be directed chiefly by love 
or by money. The former influence is, of course, likely to be 
more potent in youth, while the latter comes into play with 
middle age, and Cecil Archdale was no exception to the 
common rule. He had been very frequently in love, and 
still possessed great capabilities in that direction ; but owing 
to a marked falling off in the number of the ladies who 
showed a disposition to respond to his advances, he had of 
late been forced to turn his attention and ambition else- 
where, and, in an evil hour for himself, had taken to finan- 
cing after an amateurish fashion. He really did not see 
what else there was for him to do. Painting pictures was 
all very well ; but he could not paint enough of them to 
bring in the annual sum which he had learnt to consider as 
indispensable to his wants, and although he was profoundly 
ignorant of all matters connected with the money-market, 
he would not allow so poor a reason to deter him from 
speculating. He had met plenty of men quite as ignorant 
as himself who had realized large amounts by buying and 
selling at the right moment under the advice of an experi- 
enced broker. 

The game, however, like other games, is one at which 
there must be losers as well as winners, and it was Mr. 
Archdale’s misfortune to be numbered in the former class. 
He did not, it is true, always lose, but he lost more often 
than he won; so that, little by little, his wife’s fortune 
diminished, and more than once he had to let a really fine 
chance escape him through a modest reluctance to ask for 
more funds. Marcia was sometimes apt to be disagreeable 
about it, and when you have to spend your life with a 
woman, you should not, if you can possibly avoid doing so, 
get her into the habit of being disagreeable. He had, 


MARCIA. 


355 


therefore, on finding himself unpleasantly pinched, resolved 
to apply to Drake — a man whom, as we know, he had 
repeatedly obliged in his more prosperous days, and a sad 
disappointment it had been to him to discover what a nar- 
row construction Drake placed upon the claims of old 
acquaintance. He would have been still more grieved had 
he known that Drake, not content with refusing a reason- 
able request, had officiously gone out of his way to warn 
others against acceding to it ; but, since he was unaware 
of that treacherous act, he had fully determined to adopt 
the course which Drake had foreseen, and had only been 
prevented from so doing by his stepson’s unlucky acci- 
dent. 

This accident was all the more unlucky because the delay 
which it had entailed had given Mr. Archdale time to involve 
himself in fresh difficulties. The original amount that 
he had required had been quite trifling — a mere matter of 
a few hundreds — but his laudable desire to clear himself 
and make a fresh start had led him into speculations which 
had turned out most unfortunately ; so that he now found 
himself in urgent need of no less a. sum than four thousand 
pounds odd. Now he felt a certain delicacy about asking 
young Brett to lend him so much as that. Doubtless 
young Brett could do it without serious inconvenience, 
because he had his uncle at his back, and his personal 
tastes were evidently not of an expensive kind; still he 
might, and very likely he would, reply that he was under 
no obligation to pay his stepfather’s debts. On the other 
hand, he was under unquestionable obligations to his 
mother, and the appeal would perhaps come more fittingly 
and more convincingly from her. In short, after carefully 
and impartially considering the matter, Mr. Archdale con- 
cluded that it would be a little less disagreeable to face the 
reproaches of Marcia than the coldness and possible rude- 
ness of her son. One morning, therefore, he summoned 
up his courage, fortified it with a strong dose of whisky 
and soda, and sent a message upstairs to the effect that if 
Mrs. Archdale was disengaged he would be glad to speak 
to her for a minute or two. 

In obedience to this summons Marcia presently appeared, 
with a countenance indicative of apprehension. She had 
learnt by painful experience that when her husband 
expressed a wish to speak to her, there was one subject. 


356 


MARCIA. 


and only one, about which he wished to speak, and she 
had latterly been looking into the stale of their joint affairs, 
with a result which had considerably alarmed her. 

“ I do hope you haven’t been getting into trouble again, 
Cecil,” she began. 

Archdale shrugged his shoulders, flicked the ash off his 
cigarette and replied, “ I am sorry to tell you, my dear, 
that I have. According to the theory of averages, I ought 
most certainly to have hit upon a vein of luck this time ; 
but the theory of averages, like other theories, has a dis- 
gusting trick of breaking down, and I am now rather more 
than four thousand to the bad. The worst of it is, too, 
that I shall have to settle in a few days or take the conse- 
quences — which, I presume, would be unpleasant.” 

“ Four thousand pounds ! ” ejaculated Marcia in con- 
sternation, “ how can you have been so insane ? Do you 
know that if we sell out another four thousand pounds, we 
shall be reduced almost to beggary ? ” 

“ You don’t say so ! Well, then, we mustn’t sell out, 
that’s all j we must raise the money in some other way. 
In point of fact, that was what I sent for you to suggest. 
One would always prefer not to borrow of friends or rela- 
tions ; but necessity has no law, and I think that if you 
were to ask this small favor of our interesting young invalid 
upstairs,' he would hardly have the heart to refuse you. 
You can tell him that I will gladly pay him five per cent, 
upon his principal, which, I should imagine, is the outside 
of what he is getting for it now.” 

“ I can’t do that, Cecil,” answered Marcia firmly. “ I 
have already borrowed money of Willie, and, as you know, 
he has paid me £^200 for his board and lodging — a great 
deal more than he ought to have paid. If you wish him to 
lend you;^4ooo you must ask for it yourself ; I won’t.” 

“ Now, my dear Marcia,” remonstrated Archdale, “ let 
me ask you as a reasonable being : is it likely that he will 
put himself to any inconvenience to get me out of a fix ? 
He doesn’t like me, and never has liked me. I am sorry 
for it, but the fact is indisputable ; he will probably rather 
enjoy humiliating me by a refusal ; and then — well then, I 
am afraid, it will just end in your having to do what you 
now say you won’t do — because we can’t live upon air, you 
see.” 

“ We could live upon a great deal less than we do live 
upon,” returned Marcia, ‘‘ and surely, Cecil, you might 


MARCIA. 


357 


make a great deal more than you do make. I only wish I 
had your powers ! If I had, I wouldn’t disgrace myself by 
robbing my son, I know ! But you don’t seem to think 
that there is anything shameful in all this.” 

“ My dear,” answered Archdale forbearingly, “ you are 
mistaken there. I am conscious of a distinct sense of 
shame, and if I don’t thrust it forward that is only because 
I doubt whether there is anything virtuous in it. I shouldn’t 
have felt ashamed if I had made ;^4ooo, you see, and it 
looked as though the chances were all in favor of my doing 
so.” 

“ I don’t mean that,” said Marcia. “At the worst, it is 
only silly and imprudent to speculate and live beyond one’s 
income ; but it seems to me disgraceful to ask for a loan 
which you will never be able to repay, and which of course 
won’t be refused.” 

“ Oh, excuse me ; I quite hope to repay it, and in the 
meantime, as I tell you, the interest shall be forthcoming 
punctually. I am going to turn over a new leaf, Marcia ; 
I am going to work hard and earn a comfortable com- 
petence, if not a fortune. I fully admit that I have been 
indolent — never in my life have I denied that mine is an 
indolent temperament — but I don’t mean to be indolent 
any longer. I shall at once begin to paint pot-boilers ; I 
trust that you will not call that disgraceful, considering the 
extremities to which we are reduced. But ;j^4ooo is really 
necessary for the present distress, and I can’t make ;^4ooo 
straight off the reel.” 

Marcia did not give way at once ; she had resolved that 
she would be no further beholden to her son, and she fully 
intended to abide by her resolution. But in the long run 
she allowed herself to be talked over. Even supposing 
that Willie never saw his £4000 again he would scarcely 
miss the money, whereas the immediate payment of so large 
a sum would place her and her husband in most uncom- 
fortable straits ; since one or other of two evils was un- 
avoidable, what could she do but choose the less ? She 
accordingly administered a severe rebuke to Cecil, who 
submitted to it with angelic patience, and warned him that 
this was the very last time she would stoop to solicit alms 
on his account. She said she hoped that his recent fiasco 
would serve him as a lesson ; to which he replied that it 
certainly would. He had had more than enough of med- 


358 


MARCIA. 


dling with matters which he did not understana ; for the 
future he proposed to make money in a more sensible and 
legitimate way by sticking to those which he did. 

And when, later in the day, Marcia found an opportunity 
of admitting Willie into her confidence, she dwelt a good 
deal upon the circumstance that this promise had been 
given. Cecil, she said, had been foolish and reckless, no 
doubt — that could not be denied, nor did he himself deny 
it. But he had been terribly scared by the consequences 
of his folly, and she was sure that these would produce a 
permanent as well as a salutary effect upon him. “ I 
believe he is sincere in saying that he means to set to work 
in earnest now, and although it may be some little time 
before he can repay you the principal, I really don’t think 
that you need feel at all anxious' about the interest.” 

Willie, whose face had grown rather long while his 
mother had been speaking, made a quick gesture with his 
hand and began to walk to and fro between the fireplace 
and the window. 

“ It isn’t that,” he answered presently. “ My own con- 
viction is that Mr. Archdale is past the age for making 
fresh starts, and that he will never work hard now ; but 
that is neither here nor there. I don’t want to help him, 
and I don’t see why I should; but I do want, and I do 
think I am bound, to help you as far as I can, mother. 
All the same ” 

“ Oh, I know ! ” interrupted Marcia. “ I perfectly un- 
derstand how you feel about it : you and he have never 
been friends, and it would be outrageous to ask you to 
make any sacrifige for his sake. It is only for my own 
sake that I ask it, and I can’t tell you how hateful it is to 
me to be compelled to make such a request. Yet I must 
make it — I have no alternative. Our account at the bank 
is already very much overdrawn ; our income is so uncer- 
tain that I can’t cut my coat according to my cloth ; all I 
can tell you is that it has been growing steadily less every 
year, and that it isn’t anything like sufficient to meet our 
present expenditure. It seems to me that if I have to sell 
out another ;^4ooo we shall be to all intents and purposes 
ruined.” 

Willie hesitated, as well he might. He could not live 
in the enjoyment of luxury and leave his mother in want ; 
yet it was, to say the least of it, doubtful whether ;£40oo 


MARCIA, 


359 


would do more than retard the ruin of which she spoke, 
while the handing over to her of that sum would bring 
something worse than pecuniary ruin upon himself. Upon 
the whole, he thought he had a right to tell her how he 
was circumstanced, so he resumed : 

‘‘ What I was going to say was this. Sometime ago, 
wlien you had a small loan from me, to which I am sure 
you were most heartily welcome. Uncle George got into a 
rage about it, and ” 

“ Do you mean to say that you told him interrupted 
Marcia. “ Oh, Willie, I should never have believed that 
you would have done that ! ” 

“ 1 didn’t tell him ; but I bank with him, and he saw the 
cheque. He gave me to understand then, and he has 
repeated it a good deal more emphatically since, that he 
wouldn’t sanction my lending you money. He said that 
if such a thing occurred again, he would disinherit me. I 
am not standing up for him ; 1 think he is very hard upon 
you and rather hard upon me. Still he is entitled to do 
what he pleases with his own, and it is only right that I 
should let you know what will happen if I disobey him.” 

It was not a pleasant statement to be compelled to make, 
and Willie was painfully conscious of having made it in a 
cold, unfeeling way ; but the effect of it upon his mother 
was not in the least what he had anticipated. 

“ Oh, that is rubbish ! ” she returned, laughing. “ George 
has a spite against me, and he would like, if he could, to 
frighten you out of ever having anything more to do with 
us ; but as for carrying out his threat, you may be sure 
that he will do no such thing. It might be different if 
there were any one except you whom he could possibly 
make his heir \ but there isn’t a soul. Do you imagine 
that George is the man to bequeath all he possesses to a 
hospital ? My dear Willie, he is just about as likely to do 
that as — as I am to be taken in by such a cock-and-bull 
story.” 

“ I think he was in earnest,” said Willie. 

“ I’m sure you do, my dear ; but I know that he couldn’t 
have been. The worst that he will ever do to you will be 
to scold you.” 

What rejoinder could be made to that ? Willie was 
reluctant to reveal everything, yet he felt that it was not 
only his right but his duty to do so. Somewhat incoher- 


360 


MARCTA. 


ently, but not without a touch of pathos which one who 
loved him as Marcia did ought to have perceived and ap- 
preciated, he avowed his love for Evelyn Foljambe, and 
mentioned the proviso under which alone he could venture 
to make that avowal in another quarter. He had, as it 
chanced, returned home from Mai ton Lodge that day in 
excellent spirits ; it had seemed to him that he had a rea- 
sonable prospect of success, and he had resolved that he 
would find out on the following morning whether he was 
mistaken or not. His mother’s unexpected demand had, 
therefore, come upon him in some sort like a death war- 
rant. 

“ So now you see how it is,” he concluded, sighing (for 
he was a little disheartened by the scornful smile into 
which Marcia’s lips had curved themselves during his 
recital). “ As my uncle’s heir there is just a possibility 
that I may be accepted ; but as a subaltern with a few 
hundreds a year I mustn’t even dare to ask.” 

“ I see it as plainly as I see you,” his mother replied. 
“ Laura Wetherby would think she was flying in the face of 
Providence if she were to drive away a man so rich as you 
will be, and her daughter, no doubt, is of the same mind. 
George, who desires nothing in the world so much as to 
bring me to the workhouse, has come to an understanding 
with them, and is probably rubbing his hands now with glee 
at the recollection of how clever he has been. Well, if 
you care to win a wife on those terms, there is nothing more 
to be said.” 

“ I don’t blame Lady Wetherby in the least,” Willie 
declared ; “ she is bound to warn off suitors who have only 
a small income ; that isn’t greed, it is merely ordinary pru- 
dence. If I can’t ask Lady Evelyn to marry me, it will be 
my own doing, not hers.” 

“ Which is as mudi as to say that it will be mine,” ob- 
served Marcia. “Truly and honestly I don’t shrink from 
the responsibility. I don’t expect you to believe me ; 
nevertheless, I am convinced that if I can cure you of your 
infatuation for that girl I shall do you a service for which 
you will thank me some day. My poor boy, the world is 
full of pretty girls ! More than half of them are prettier 
than she is, and nine out of ten of them have better dis- 
positions. Very likely she will take you, just as she would 
have taken Mr. Mortimer if he had given her the chance ,* 


MARCIA. 361 

but don’t delude yourself into the belief that she will ever 
be in love with you, or with anybody else.” 

You may be right, mother,” answered Willie, patiently ; 
“ but I am sure you cannot persuade me that you are right. 
All I wanted to make clear to you is that, though I can 
give you ^4000 and would most gladly give you more than 
that, if it were only a question of the loss of the money, 
I can’t do it without — without ” 

“ Without abandoning some one whom you care for a 
great deal more than you care for me. Very well, then ; 
so be it. In a sort of way, I suppose, you are fond of 
me ; but you are still fonder of her — there is the whole 
story in a nutshell. I don’t think I should mind so much 
if she were in the least bit worthy of you ; but what is the 
use of saying any more ? You are a man now, and you 
are not different from other men — why should you he? ” 

But the unfortunate thing was that this soft-hearted 
fellow did differ in some important respects from the 
general run of mankind. When his mother covered her 
face with her hands and began to sob he was practically 
undone. Doubtless he was a fool, yet the world would be 
all the better off if it contained a few more such fools. 
It was not necessary for Marcia to plead, as she presently 
did, that she was the most unhappy of women, and that 
the difficulties in which she was involved were not of her 
creating ; still less was it necessary for her to protest that 
nothing would induce her to save herself from ruin at her 
son’s expense if, by so doing, she was really placing his 
pecuniary prospects in jeopardy. It was not of his 
pecuniary prospects that Willie was thinking, nor was she 
concerned to promote the object upon which he had .set 
his heart. 

So at the end of a quarter of an hour she was drying 
her eyes and embracing her dear boy, who, as she was 
good enough to say, had given her a convincing proof that 
he loved her. And she was sure that he would never repent 
of what he had done. There was not the slightest danger 
that Sir George would cast him adrift ; while as for Lady 
Evelyn, she would soon marry somebody else and very 
soon lose such looks as she now possessed. Mark my 
words, Willie, two years hence you will laugh at the idea 
that you once lost your heart to her.” 

But Willie could not respond, and got out of the room 


$62 


MARCTA. 


as quickly as possible. He had proved beyond question 
that he loved his mother, but had she in return given him 
any proof at all that she loved him ? His intelligence 
was of a simple and direct kind, and he thought not. 


CHAPTER XLV. 

“WORSE THAN AN ASS.” 

There is, no doubt, a certain bitter sweetness in giving up 
all that we value for the sake of those whom we love ; but 
it must be confessed that the bitterness predominates 
largely over the sweetness from the moment that we begin 
to suspect them of being unworthy of such a sacrifice. In 
reality they must always be so, because the worthy people 
will not accept sacrifices : still self-deception upon the 
point is not impossible. Unluckily for poor Willie, it had 
become so in his case, and without saying to himself in so 
many words that his mother’s love for him was of a purely 
selfish order, he nevertheless knew the truth. Looking 
forward into the future, he could discern no prospect of 
compensation, nor any object that seemed much worth 
living for, except indeed his profession ; and the profession 
of a soldier in time of peace cannot be counted as a very 
exciting one. It only remained for him to submit to his 
destiny with courage and resignation ; to submit to it 
cheerfully was, he felt, beyond him. 

It has been said that he had at last begun to feel a little 
hopeful with regard to Lady Evelyn. Nothing verbal, it 
is true, had passed between them of a nature to justify 
hope ; but he had made tentative advances which had not 
been repelled, and once or twice, when their eyes had 
chanced to meet, he had fancied that he saw a look in 
hers which had not been there before — although, of course, 
he might have been quite mistaken. Well, at any rate, 
there must be an end of all that now. Whatever his 
chances might have been, he had deliberately parted with 
them, and there was no other course open to him than to 
part also with her. He must make some excuse for leaving 
Torquay as soon as possible, since it was no longer in his 
power to associate with her upon a footing of mere 


MARCIA. 


363 


acquaintanceship, nor permissible for him to associate 
with her upon any other footing. Meanwhile, he resolved 
that he would avoid seeing her at all until he should have 
received his uncle’s reply to the communication which he 
now sat down to write. 

He could not, even if he had wished to do so, have con- 
cealed from the head of the banking firm so important a 
circumstance as that he desired to sell out £4,000 forth- 
with, and he thought it best to despatch a private letter to Sir 
George as well as a formal notification of his requirements 
to the bank. He said what he had to say simply and with- 
out any attempt at excuse or apology ; for his uncle, as 
he very well knew, would consider his action hopelessly 
inexcusable. It was not even worth while to state his 
motives, the cogency of which could never be rendered 
manifest to a sensible man like Sir George. As to the results 
which would follow Willie did not feel the slightest doubt. 
It was all very well for his mother to smile at the threats 
of a man who had no heir and would be puzzled to find 
one, but, as a matter of fact, Willie knew his uncle to 
be not only obstinate but conscientious. There were 
many points upon which Sir George might be opposed 
and vanquished ; but with regard to the custody of his 
money and the performance of what he believed to be his 
duty he was certain to be immovable. 

The ensuing day was a very long and very sad one for 
our poor hero. He had, as was only to be expected, slept 
little and was feeling wretchedly ill ; he would not go to 
Malton Lodge ; he did not know how to occupy himself, 
and he was bound in honor to keep up appearances as far 
as he could before his mother, who evidently thought that 
he was repenting a little of his generosity. However, he 
was under no such obligation to his stepfather, who had 
the bad taste to be profusely grateful to him. 

“ Really, it’s uncommonly good of you to help us out of 
this mess, my dear fellow,” said Archdale, “ and you may 
be sure that you will get the interest of your money 
regularly until I can scrape together enough to clear olf 
the debt. I don’t think you will be put to any serious 
inconvenience about it ; still you have done me an im- 
mense service, which, I assure you, I shall never forget.” 

“ I lent the money to my mother,” answered Willie 
shortly. 


3^4 


MARCIA, 


‘^Yes, yes, I quite understand that. Only it was my 
fault that your mother had to ask you for it, you see.” 

“And I quite understand that,” said Willie. “You 
have nothing to thank me for ; so we needn’t say any 
more about it.” 

But Archdale, thinking it a pity that this timely advance 
should be a cause of ill-feeling between him and his bene- 
factor, persisted in saying more. “ Situated as I am just 
now,” he explained, “ it is a matter of sheer necessity for 
me to raise £4000 somehow or other, and you know — or 
perhaps you don’t know — I’m sure I hope you don’t — that 
applying to the Jews is a horribly expensive way of doing 
business. The only thing I am sorry for is that, according 
to your mother, this may get you into trouble with your 
uncle. But, after all, I don’t think he can grumble very 
much. It isn’t as if you had taken to betting or gambling, 
as most young fellows with your expectations would do.” 

“ My uncle will undoubtedly cut me out of his will,” 
answered Willie. “ I shall have enough of my own to live 
upon, but I shall not be able to afford any more loans. 
Perhaps it is as well to tell you that at once.” 

And, having imparted this agreeable piece of information, 
he left the room. 

“ That young man,” mused Archdale, after he had gone, 

has no sort of urbanity. What is the use of saying nasty 
things to a man who is trying hard to be civil to you? 
Well, I’ve done my best to conciliate him, and if he won’t 
make friends, why, he must do the other thing ; as he just- 
ly remarks, is isn’t I who owe him any thanks. As for 
old Brett’s cutting him off with a shilling, I expect he 
knows as well as I do that there’s no fear of that.” 

But Willie, knowing Sir George a good deal better than 
Mr. Archdale did, was not in the least surprised when, by 
return of post, a letter reached him from Blaydon Hall in 
which he was given plainly to understand that he must 
expect no further favors from one whose wishes he had 
chosen to set at naught. 

“ Your instructions have been acted upon,” Sir George 
wrote, “ and in a few days’ time the sum which you pro- 
pose to hand over to your mother will be placed to your 
credit. Since your determination has been made with a 
full knowledge of its necessary consequences, I shall not 
waste time by reproaching you. I will merely mention 


MARCIA. 


365 


that I shall this day sign a fresh will, in which your name 
will not appear. It would be idle to pretend that the news 
of your folly — and, I must add, your ingratitude — has not 
come upon me as a severe blow ; but I must bear it as best 
I may. I trust that Lady Evelyn Foljambe, whom you 
appear willing to resign without a struggle, will think, as I 
do, that she is well rid of so weak-kneed a lover. 

“ There was some talk, I believe, of your coming here 
again before Christmas, but under all the circumstances I 
will ask you to consider that engagement cancelled. Your 
aunt, I am sorry to say, is once more seriously unwell, and 
I wish to spare her the distress of hearing that you have 
ceased to be what we have always hoped that you would 
be, namely, our successor here, and, to all intents and 
purposes, our son. This I could not do if you were in the 
house. I have nothing more to say. Your mind is made 
up, and mine, as you are aware, was made up long ago. 
We need not quarrel over it; but it will be obvious to you 
that our relations must henceforth be of a far more formal 
kind than they have hitherto been.’' 

That much was certainly obvious, and Willie could not 
take exception to the terms in which his uncle’s more or 
less valedictory epistle was couched. It was as unequivo- 
cal as he had expected it to be, and a good deal more tem- 
perate than he had ventured to anticipate. And now, since 
everything was settled beyond recall, he thought there 
would be no harm in his walking as far as Malton Lodge. 
He could not tell Lady Wetherby in plain language that 
he had withdrawn the pretensions of which she had been 
informed ; but he owed it to her to make the fact apparent, 
and this might easily be done by a casual mention of his 
intention to exchange into the linked battalion of his regi- 
ment, which was quartered in India. 

Towards dusk, therefore, he set forth to acquit himself 
of his duty, fighting his way against a south-easterly gale 
and a cold, driving rain. Torquay, notwithstanding the 
high character that it bears as a health resort, is not exempt 
from occasional south-easterly winds, and no Englishman 
requires to be told what a combination of south-easterly 
wind and wet weather means. One does not often meet 
with people who want to go to India; but under such hor- 
rible atmospheric conditions even a man who proposes to 
leave his heart behind him may feel that Asia possesses 


MARCIA. 


366 

certain advantages over northern Europe. Willie was not 
quite philosophical enough to take tV.at view, yet he was 
rather glad that the world looked so utterly dreary and 
wde-begone that evening. Sunshine and a blue sky would 
have been intolerable. 

The ladies were, of course, at home. He found them, 
as he had expected to find them, drinking tea before the 
fire, and they welcomed him all the more warmly because, 
as they declared, they had given up all hope that anybody 
would be charitable enough to enliven their solitude on 
such a day. 

“ What have you been doing with yourself all this time ? ” 
Lady Wetherby inquired. “ I’m afraid it is hardly neces- 
sary to ask though, for I can see by your face that you 
have been ill again. Have you any business to be here 
now, I wonder ? ” 

Oh, yes,” answered Willie, with a somewhat forlorn 
smile, for he was thinking that if Lady Wetherby knew all 
she would be decidedly of opinion that he had no business 
in her house. “ There is nothing particular the matter 
with me ; only I am feeling a little seedy to-day.” 

“ Who wouldn’t be in such weather ? ” exclaimed Lady 
Evelyn. “ If one must needs be soaked to the skin and 
chilled to the marrow of one’s bones, surely one might as 
well be following the hounds in one’s native county.” 

“ I suppose you will be in your native county before the 
hunting is over,” said Willie interrogatively. 

She shrugged her shoulders. “Not until after Christ- 
mas, anyhow, and even then I don’t know. It depends 
upon mamma, who is hankering after the flesh-pots of 
Egypt or the wind and dust of the Riviera. But I live in 
hopes.” 

This was perhaps as good an opportunity as another for 
announcing that soon after Christmas he himself would in 
all probability be on his way towards a sunnier clime ; but 
Willie did not profit by it. He was afraid of being cate- 
chised, and thought it would be wiser to defer his state- 
ment until the last moment. So he swallowed the tea 
which was poured out for him, and talked and w'as talked 
to for a time, though what the subjects conversed about 
were he would have been puzzled to say afterwards. 

The entrance of an old woman, enveloped in furs, who, 
by her own account, had braved the elements in order to 


MARCIA, 


367 


make sure of finding dear Lady Wetherby at home, ne- 
cessarily threw the responsibility of entertaining him upon 
Lady Evelyn, and she proceeded to do so by retiring to the 
other end of the double drawing-room and making him a 
sign to follow her. A few days before he would have been 
overjoyed by such a mark of favor, but now it only made 
his heart ache the more. What could he say to her ? All 
he knew was that he was in duty bound to avoid saying 
too much. 

As it happened, things were made comparatively easy 
for him ; for Lady Evelyn, after some further disparaging 
criticisms upon the climate of the west of England, asked 
him whether he expected to be quartered much longer at 
Plymouth, and as that was a question to which he would 
have to give a definite reply before quitting the house, he 
did not see his way to evade answering it at once. 

“ The regiment will be there for another year most likely,” 
he said, in as unconcerned a voice as he could command, 
“ but I don’t think I shall remain with it. I want to ex- 
change to India if I can.” 

There was no lamp in the room where they were seated, 
and Lady Evelyn was shielding her face from the fire with 
a handscreen, so that it was impossible to see how she 
was affected by his words, though he stole an eager side- 
glance at her as soon as they were uttered. It must be 
owned that he was a little disappointed by the perfect indif- 
ference with which she returned — 

“ Really ! Will you like that better than England, do 
you think ? ” 

“ In some ways, I dare say,” he answered. “ Of course, 
one is sorry to leave one’s friends.” 

“ Oh, you will make new ones. Your mother will be 
sorry to lose you though. And what about your uncle — 
does he approve ? ” 

“ I don’t suppose ne will object ; but I haven’t consulted 
him. I’m not bound to consult him you know.” 

‘‘ I thought he was rather under the impression that you 
were ; but old gentlemen are very liable to be under mis- 
taken impressions of that kind. When do you propose to 
start ? ” 

To an experienced student of women, like Cecil Arch- 
dale, this assumption of nonchalance would have appeared 
decidedly overdone ; but it was quite artistic enough to 


568 


MARCIA. 


deceive Willie, who accepted it as a convincing proof that 
his half-formed hopes had been built upon sand, and who 
was scarcely as glad of that as he ought to have been. He 
explained that exchanges could not be effected at a mo- 
ment’s notice, and that there was little likelihood of his 
getting away from England before the spring, but that, as 
he had various arrangements to make, he would probably 
rejoin his regiment very shortly. 

“ So that we shan’t see much more of you, I presume,” 
observed Lady Evelyn cheerfully. “ Well, I hope you will 
enjoy yourself out there and have plenty of pig-sticking. 
If I were you I should make a point of going to some place 
where there are pigs to stick.” 

She went on chatting about Indian field sports and other 
kindred topics for ten minutes or so, after which the old 
lady in the next room took her departure, and Willie rose 
to do likewise. He did not inform Lady Wetherby of his 
plans, knowing that she would hear about them presently 
from her daughter, so that his leave-taking was only such 
as is customary between people who expect to meet again 
on the morrow. 

Nevertheless he had almost made up his mind that it 
should be final. When he was once more out in the wind 
and the rain, he said to himself that it would be wiser not 
to risk a second visit to Malton Lodge. Lady Wetherby 
might, and very likely would, ask for explanations which it 
would be painful as well as useless to give, and Evelyn, it 
was very plain, would not trouble her head about him after 
he should be out of sight. He must get the doctor’s per- 
mission to return to duty, or, if that could not be obtained, 
he must invent some pretext for running up to London. 

It was now quite dark, and he would have passed without 
recognizing a solitary pedestrian whom he met breasting 
the hill which he was descending, had not that individual 
hailed in Mortimer’s voice — 

“ Hullo, Brett ! It is Brett, isn’t it ? ” 

Willie took his friend’s outstretched hand. “ What in 
the world has brought you here, Mortimer?” he asked. 
“ I thought you were never coming to Torquay any 
more.” 

“ Well, so did I,” answered the other, with a laugh ; 
but I went off in such a hurry that I left some things 
behind me at the hotel, and then there were some bills that 


MARC/A. 369 

I forgot to pay, and — and so I thought I would just run 
down for a couple of nights.” 

But perhaps he felt that this was really too lame an ex- 
planation to pass muster; for he added, with another 
apologetic laugh, “ Well, the fact is, I wanted to have a 
last glimpse of — of you all. Between you and me, old man, 
I find that shooting won’t do — I must get out of the old 
groove altogether. So I’ve made up my mind to go round 
the world, and I expect I shall be away for at least a year. 
Now, tell me, is everything settled between you and Lady 
Evelyn ? ” 

They were standing in the middle of the road, exposed 
to the full fury of the weather ; but hard by was one of 
those flights of steps, known in Torquay as “ slips,” which 
enable foot-passengers to scale the many hills in a some- 
what shorter space of time than is required by vehicles, and 
which are usually flanked on either side by the high walls 
of adjacent gardens. Into the comparative shelter thus 
afforded Willie now drew his friend, and there briefly re- 
lated how all his hopes had come to shipwreck. There 
was nobody in the world except Mortimer to whom he 
could speak so openly, and it was in some sort a relief to 
him to be able to tell the whole truth. But if he expected 
comfort or sympathy, he mistook his man. 

“ I must say, Brett, that I think you have been worse 
than an ass,” was Mortimer’s comment upon his narrative. 
“ If you had been content with ruining yourself, you would 
have been only an ass, I suppose ; but what right have 
you to throw over a girl whom you profess to love ? You 
can’t really care very much about her.” 

“ You don’t understand,” returned Willie. “ I haven’t 
thrown her over, she wouldn’t have taken me under any 
circumstances.” 

How do you know that ? Have you asked her ? ” 

“ No ; but it isn’t always necessary to ask — you your- 
self admitted that before you went away.” 

“ One can’t be sure of anything without asking.” 

“ Well — why don’t you do it, then ? ” 

“ Ll’pon my word, Brett,” answered Mortimer, after pon- 
dering for a few seconds, “ I think I will. I’m sure I 
don’t know whether you’re mistaken or not about Lady 
Evelyn’s feelings ; but any way, it seems to me that you’ve 
chosen to put yourself out of it. Neither her mother nor 

24 


370 


MARCIA, 


Wetherby would allow her to marry you upon your pre- 
sent income, and I agree with you that you couldn’t make 
such an offer to her. So I don’t see why I shouldn’t try 
my luck. I can but fail after all.” 

He was, no doubt, fully entitled to try his luck upon a 
forlorn hope ; and forlorn hopes, as has been proved again 
and again, often turn out successful. To be sure, he had 
heard with his own ears what had sounded like an unequi- 
vocal avowal on Lady Evelyn’s part of her love for Willie 
Brett ; yet in moments of excitement people sometimes say 
things which they do not mean. Moreover, the pain of 
separation from her had abated something of his pride j so 
that he would now have been thankful to be accepted, even 
though it should be for reasons which he had once declared 
insufficient to satisfy him. 

He met with no opposition from Willie, who wished him 
good-night, but could not find it in his heart to wish him 
good luck. So these two friends went their several ways, 
each of them, naturally enough, feeling a little disappointed 
in the other. Willie, as Mortimer had truly said, had been 
worse than an ass, while Mortimer had perhaps taken a 
somewhat mercenary and commonplace view of a cruelly 
hard case. 


CHAPTER XLVL 

LADY EVELYN DISGRACES HERSELF. 

When Marcia was informed — for there was no possibility 
of disguising the truth from her — that Sir George Brett 
had proved as good as his word and had disinherited his 
nephew, she entrenched herself in a position of obstinate 
incredulity, whence she was not to be dislodged by any 
efforts on Willie’s part. 

“ Oh, he may say this, that, or the other,” she declared ; 
“ it doesn’t by any means follow that he will do what he 
says he will do. You may hold a pistol to a man’s head 
and shout out ‘ Your money or your life ! ’ but if you 
can’t frighten him and can’t get his money, you won’t run 
the risk of shooting him. George has always been a bully. 
When he finds that bullying won’t help him with you, he 


MARCIA, 


371 


will surrender for his own sake, if not for yours. He can’t 
do otherwise, because he can’t discover anybody to replace 
you.” 

This attitude of Marcia’s had the convenience of reliev- 
ing her from any pangs of conscience ; but, to do her jus- 
tice, she did not knowingly adopt it on that account. She 
was persuaded that Sir George would come round in time, 
and as for her son’s abandonment of the hopes he had 
cherished, she really could not see that that was a subject 
for regret. He had not intended to breathe a word to her 
about those hopes ; but it is needless to say that she 
extorted a full confession from him with very little difficulty, 
and, having done so, she did not fail to point out to him 
how undeserving of any honest man’s love a girl must be 
to whom that love could not so much as be avowed with- 
out a simultaneous production of vouchers to show that 
he was wealthy as well as love-sick. 

Willie did not argue the point, he confined himself to a 
statement which could not be disputed — namely, that whe- 
ther Lady Evelyn was deserving or undeserving, he loved 
her. That was why he must leave Torquay, and that was 
why he had determined to exchange to India as soon as 
might be. Marcia, however, would not hear of either of 
these projects. The question of India she was content to 
leave in abeyance, reserving it for future discussion ; but 
to her son’s leaving her in his present weak state of health 
she could not and would not consent. The end of it was 
that, for the sake of peace, he agreed to remain where he 
was a little longer. When all was said, it did not so very 
much signify. Probably he would see little or nothing 
more of Lady Evelyn. Besides, it would not matter if he 
did, supposing that she accepted Mortimer, which he was 
now inclined to think that there was every chance of her 
doing. 

During several days he vainly awaited news of his rival, 
who, he thought, would surely have the common humanity 
to communicate with him, and at length he could no longer 
resist setting forth upon a round of inquiry to the various 
hotels. His curiosity was gratified at the first of these to 
which he applied, where he learnt that Mr. Mortimer had 
left Torquay on the previous morning. That might be 
taken as tolerably conclusive evidence that Mr. Mortimer 
had been dismissed. Perhaps it was selfish and ill-natured 


372 


MARCIA. 


to rejoice, but he could not help rejoicing; and indeed he 
was able to say to himself that he had a right to do so, since 
he was persuaded that if Lady Evelyn had consented to 
marry Mortimer it would not have been because she loved 
the man. And, on his return home, his mother had a 
piece of intelligence to impart to him which raised his 
spirits still farther, although he hardly knew why it should. 

“ Laura Wetherby has been here,” Marcia told him ; 
“ she came to say good-bye. It seems that they have 
decided all of a sudden to go off to Cannes for the winter. 
I don’t know what has come over Laura, but she isn’t at 
all what she used to be. Her manner was very cold and 
disagreeable this afternoon, and when I asked her what 
was the matter she wouldn’t tell me, I could guess, 
though, as soon as I heard that Mr. Mortimer had been 
here and had gone away again. That girl has been a little 
too clever, and between two stools she has fallen to the 
ground. I would give something to see her face when 
you take leave of her and omit to give her the option of 
rejecting you. Because of course you won’t give her the 
option. Just now you are by way of being a poor man 
with no expectations, and I presume you won’t be quite so 
ridiculous as to lay your poverty and your blank prospects 
at her feet.” 

“ I shall not do that,” answered Willie curtly. I shall 
not even take leave of her. I did take leave of them ^fter 
a fashion the other day, and I don’t care to go to Malton 
Lodge again.” 

“ Well, I think you will have to go,” said Marcia, who 
felt that he might safely be allowed to do so, and was anx- 
ious to insure the discomfiture of Lady Evelyn. “ Laura 
made me promise to send you to tea there ; apparently 
she thinks that a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. 
Poor Laura ! I am really sorry for her, though she richly 
deserves to be put to confusion. I could see that she was 
anxious to impress upon me how very condescending it 
was of her to consent to a match between her daughter 
and my son. And it so happens that not even a threat 
of rushing off to the south of France will secure my son 
for her. 

Willie glanced at the clock and got up. It would be 
better to incur such suffering as might have to be under- 
gone in the course of a last interview with the girl whom 


MARCIA, 


373 


he loved than to listen any longer to that kind of thing. 
Besides, foolish though it might be to wish for one more 
sight of her face, he did wish for it. So, shortly afterwards, 
he was shown into the drawing-room at Malton Lodge, 
where he found Lady Welherby alone. 

She rose at once and held out her hand, looking at him 
with kindly, sorrowful eyes. “ I am so glad you have 
come ! ” she said. “ It was good of you to grant my re- 
quest, because I know you would rather have stayed away. 
But I felt that I couldn’t bear to leave Torquay without 
telling you that I admire and respect you, though I can’t 
think you wise.” 

“ You know all about it, then ? ” said Willie. 

“Yes, Mr. Mortimer told me. He proposed to Evelyn 
the day before yesterday and she refused him. I am 
sorry for it because I like him, and I don’t think she will 
easily find his superior ; but if she doesn’t care for him, 
there is no more to be said. Perhaps you are his superior 
in some ways — only, you see, you have made yourself im- 
possible.” 

“ I couldn’t do otherwise,” said Willie. 

“ Well, I don’t know ; it seems to me that it was a tre- 
mendous sacrifice to make for a very doubtful advantage. 
Nevertheless, I am not so insensible but that I can admire 
you for making it. My admiration isn’t of much use to 
you, though, is it?” she added, with a compassionate 
smile. 

“ Yes, it is,” returned Willie ; “ it is a very great com- 
fort and happiness to me to know that you understand. 
The sacrifice isn’t quite so tremendous as it looks either. 
All I have given up is the succession to my uncle’s pro- 
perty, which I didn’t particularly care about.” 

“ Haven’t you given up rather more than that? ” 

“ No"; because I know now that I am nothing at all to 
Lady Evelyn, and that I never could have been anything. 
I daresay she has told you that I am going out to India. I 
mentioned that to her the other day, and I suppose I hoped 
that she would be a little bit sorry. But she didn’t care 
in the least ; she only recommended me to go to some 
place where plenty of sport was obtainable. Well, of 
course, she wouldn’t have spoken in that way, if she had 
ever thought of me otherwise than as one of the nonentities 
whom she is accustomed to meet and forget.” 


374 


MARCIA, 


Lady Wetherby may have held a different opinion, but 
it was obviously out of the question for her to contradict 
him. From the highest of motives this noble but mis- 
guided young man had seen fit to cut his own throat ; 
what good purpose could be served by suggesting to him 
that if he had abstained from that fatal act he might have 
had a happy life ? So she only looked regretful and held 
her tongue, and perhaps wished that he would go away. 

He was about to do so when Lady Evelyn’s entrance 
obliged him to resume his seat for a few minutes. At least, 
he said to himself, that politeness compelled him to submit 
to a brief and painful ordeal, though in truth he would 
have suffered a good deal more pain rather than forego it. 
As it happened, he was not detained long. He had the 
pain and the pleasure of looking at Lady Evelyn, but it 
was little that he heard of the sound of her voice, for she 
was unusually subdued and scarcely addressed half a dozen 
words to him. He surmised that she knew all, that his 
presence was somewhat embarrassing to her, and that she 
would be glad to get rid of him. Therefore he soon rose 
to say farewell — a ceremony which was accomplished after 
an unemotional fashion which Lady Wetherby thought 
creditable to all concerned. Presently it was all over; he 
was out of the house, and he felt, as he walked slowly 
away, that the curtain had fallen finally upon the romance 
of his life. 

However, he had not taken many steps before he was 
called by name in a voice which he had not expected to 
hear again, unless it might be in his dreams. 

“ I forgot to tell you,” Lady Evelyn said, when she 
caught him up, “ that the garden gate is locked ; but I 
have the key here, and 1 can let you out that way,’ if you 
like.” 

He made some stupid reply to the effect thaf^he was 
sorry to give her so much trouble. Fie hardly knew what 
he said ; for he was a good deal perturbed and taken aback. 
Somehow or other, he felt sure that this offer of providing 
him with a means of exit for which he had not been making 
was only a pretext, and that she had something particular 
to say to him. Nor was his intuition at fault, as her first 
words proved. 

“Mr. Brett,” she said, while they were walking down 
the steep path which lead through the garden, “ I want to 
know why you are going to India ? ” 


AMRC/A. 


375 


He glanced quickly at her ; but the light of a watery 
November moon betrayed no secrets, and he could not tell 
whether her question was prompted by mere curiosity or 
by some kindly suspicion of the truth. “ I think you do 
know,” he answered at length ; though he felt that he had 
no business to make such an answer. 

“ Do I ? " she returned. “ If I do, it is only because I 
heard something from Mr. Mortimer which I did not wish 
to believe.” 

“ I am sure of that,” said Willie ; I was sure that, if 
you ever heard of it, you would be sorry for it. But it is 
true, and it can’t be helped, and it is no fault of yours — or 
of mine. After all, I think I am rather glad that you know. 
It isn’t as if my love for you could cause you the smallest 
annoyance or discomfort. We live in such different worlds 
that you are very unlikely to come across me again or even 
to hear my name mentioned, and I suppose it isn’t an 
insult to love you, though perhaps it would have been 
rather absurd and impertinent to tell you so. That is, if 
I had told you with any idea that my love could possibly 
be returned.” 

“ Is that genuine modesty or only a conventional way of 
speaking?” Lady Evelyn inquired. “I certainly didn’t 
gather from what Mr. Mortimer said that you were so 
humble as all that.” 

“ I don’t know what Mortimer may have told you,” 
replied Willie ; but I daresay I can guess. He told you, 
perhaps, that if I had bee-n a rich man I should have 
summoned up courage to ask you to marry me, but that I 
couldn’t ask you when I found out that I should always be 
poor. Was that it?” 

Lady Evelyn made a sign of assent. 

‘‘ Well,” resumed Willie, “ I can’t deny that it was so. 
My uncle encouraged me, and so did Lady Wetherby — or 
at any rate, I thought she did. And sometimes you your- 
self said things which of course you didn’t mean to be 
encouraging, but which I was blind enough to fancy so. 
Do what one will, one can’t give up every shred of hope 
until one has some decisive proof that hope is ridiculous. 
I quite understand now that it never entered into your head 
to think of me as you thought of Mortimer.” 

“ No ; I have never thought of you in that way,” the 
girl replied. “ I suppose your notion of the way in which 


MARCIA. 


376 

I thought of Mr. Mortimer was that, taking him all round, 
he was too eligible to be lightly rejected. All the same, 
I did reject him, you see. There is no harm in my men- 
tioning that, because I know you were in his confidence, 
and you must have understood why he went away.” 

“ Yes, and Lady Wetherby told me too. I never beli^ed 
that you cared for him, but I did think that you might 
consent to marry him, because several times you spoke to 
me as if you would. I am much more glad than sorry that 
I did you an injustice.” 

“ Oh, you did not do me an injustice ; I seriously con- 
templated marrying him at one time. Only, as I am not 
going to marry him, notwithstanding all the inducements 
that he has to offer, I think you might give me credit for 
being a little less greedy and selfish than you make me 
out.” 

By this time they had reached the gate, upon which 
Willie dropped his elbows, gazing down at the bare 
branches of the trees beneath and the moonlit expanse of 
sea beyond. He said, “ I didn’t mean to call you selfish 
or greedy ; of course, I know that you are neither the one 
nor the other. But to some people, I suppose, money is 
just as much a necessary of life as food and fresh air are to 
me. Your mother told me just now that I had made my- 
self impossible, which is perfectly true. Well, you see, 
Mortimer was possible ; and I think you liked him without 
loving him.” 

“What constitutes impossibility?” Lady Evelyn in- 
quired. “ I admit that it is impossible to marry upon two 
or three hundred a year ; but if you hesitate to ask anyone 
whom you love to marry you upon what you have, that can 
only be because you think she wouldn’t consent to do with- 
out luxuries for your sake.” 

Willie started and turned round, so as to face her, his 
eyes dilated with wonderment and interrogation. But she 
did not flinch from his scrutiny. 

“ I mean it,” she said. “ That is what I understood from 
Mr. Mortimer, and that is what I was so sorry to hear. I 
hoped that, if you cared for me at all, you would have had 
a rather better opinion of me than that.” 

And, as Willie was evidently too much astonished to 
make any rejoinder, she went on presently, with a little 
burst of laughter which was not very far removed from 


MARCIA. 


377 


tears : “ Oh, how stupid you are ! Everybody knows, 
except you ; and now I have had to disgrace myself by 
running after you and entreating you not to desert me ! 
It would have served you well right if I had let you go off 
to India ; only — only then I should have punished myself 
rather more than you, perhaps.” 

Are there really people who like to read letters which 
are not addressed to them, to listen at doors and to peep 
through keyholes ? It is said that there are, and the asser- 
tion may be true ; but the readers of this narrative shall 
not be insulted by the suggestion that any of them can be- 
long to that ignoble species. The mutual avowals of two 
young lovers are beyond question charming, beautiful, and 
as nearly divine as anything in this fallen world can be — 
but to appreciate them it is necessary to be one of the 
lovers. We do not wish to overhear what our neighbors 
may have to say to one another upon such occasions. 
What is certain is that they always take an unconscionably 
long time about repeating phrases which ought to be stale, 
but never will be stale so long as the course of Nature 
continues to run along its appointed track. 

It is natural to love, it is natural to think nothing of 
sacrifices incurred for the sake of those whom we love, and 
surely it is unnatural to marry from any other motive than 
love. This was what Evelyn Foljambe succeeded in im- 
pressing upon Willie Brett when he dwelt upon the hard- 
ships of a soldier’s life, and contrasted it with the mode of 
existence which he presumed to be essential to members 
of the aristocracy and plutocracy. If she didn’t mind 
being comparatively poor, and if he didn’t mind, what 
could other people’s definitions of an impossible match 
signify to them ? 

And if anybody is disposed to sympathize with poor 
Lady Wetherby, who was well aware that her daughter had 
gone out, and who was in a fever of doubt and anxiety all 
this time, it may be acknowledged that his sympathy is 
not bestowed unworthily. Lady Wetherby had tried to do 
her duty ; she was old enough to know that love-matches 
do not invariably bring about contentment, and she hoped 
that so honorable a young man as Mr. Brett had proved 
himself to be would feel bound to refrain from the declar- 
ation of sentiments which he had no right to declare. 
However, she had taken no account of the quandary in 


378 


MARCTA, 


which an honorable young man who has had a declaration 
made to him may find himself ; so that she felt entitled to 
be very angry when at length Willie and Evelyn re-entered 
the drawing-room, looking somewhat guilty, yet by no 
means ashamed of themselves. 


CHAPTER XLVII. 

MARCIA DECLINES TO JUMP. 

It is all very well, and perhaps it is quite legitimate, to be 
angry with two young idiots who, ignorant of the changes 
and chances of this transitory life, are bent upon linking 
tlieir fortunes, or absence of fortunes, together for no better 
reason than that they have fallen in love with one another ; 
but what is the use of picking even a legitimate quarrel with 
human nature ? We cannot alter it ; we cannot make 
young people old or fools wise, and some of us are not al- 
together convinced that such a process would be salutary 
if we could bring it about. Lady Wetherby said every- 
thing that a sensible, practical, middle-aged woman could 
say. She began by scolding ; then, growing cooler, she 
pointed out some of the inevitable consequences of marry- 
ing upon a small income ; then she dwelt upon the fact, 
which could not be denied, that there is a vast difference 
between romance and reality — and it is needless to add 
that she might just as well have held her tongue. 

“ We know all that, mamma,” Lady Evelyn said meekly ; 
“we are aware that we are going to behave in a most 
senseless way, and that all our relations will point the fin- 
ger of scorn at us. But the worst of it is that we don’t 
care a bit. 

And then, after some further interchange of arguments, 
which could only be called arguments in so far as that they 
were couched in argumentative forms, Willie put in his 
word. 

“ Lady Wetherby,” said he, “ how would you yourself 
have acted if you had been in Evelyn’s place, or in mine ? 
My firm belief is that you would have acted exactly as we 
have done.” 

“ Then all I can say is that you little know me,” re- 
' turned Lady Wetherby, with some asperity. I don’t 


MARCIA, 


379 


know so much about Evelyn, because of course excuses 
ought to be made for girls who — who — in short, for girls 
of her age ; but I must say that your proper course was as 
plain as anything could be, and I quite thought that you 
realized it. I never was so taken in by anybody in my 
life ! Didn’t you tell me in so many words that you recog- 
nized the impossibility of coming forward under the cir- 
cumstances, and that you were going off to India without 
loss of time on that very account ? ” 

“ He really was going,” Lady Evelyn interposed before 
the young man could make any reply ; “ he had taken all 
the first steps, and he would have taken all the rest if I 
hadn’t rushed after him and caught him by the collar. I 
alone am to blame for this scandalous business ; and, as I 
said before, I don’t care a bit. Now, mamma, what are 
you going to do ? I know what you can’t do ; but I should 
like to hear what you think you can.” 

“ I can refuse my consent,” answered Lady Wetherby 
feebly. 

“ Oh, but you won’t. You would never do such an un- 
kind thing as that — especially if you were brought to see, 
as you very soon would be, that it would be useless as well 
as unkind. What you mean is that you are bound to pro- 
test, and we fully acknowledge that you are. Well, you 
have made your protest now, and I suppose Wetherby will 
make his.” 

“ There can’t be the shadow of a doubt that he will.” 

‘‘ Quite so. After which, you will all of you have to make 
the best of what can’t be helped. Only it would be much 
nicer and much more like you to give in with a good grace 
at once. At the bottom of your heart you are on our side 
already — you know you are ! ” 

Perhaps she was ; perhaps ninety-nine people out of a 
hundred are, at the bottom of their hearts, on the side of 
imprudent lovers, although, for obvious reasons, they ought 
to hesitate before saying so. Lady Wetherby^ at all 
events, ended by saying so. She could not approve of 
her daughter’s marrying a poor man ; yet she could not 
help being glad that her daughter was capable of such 
folly. Besides, when she had struck her colors, and when 
the question of ways and means had been brought up for 
discussion, she was able to console herself with the thought 
that Evelyn, after all, would only be comparatively poor. 


380 


MARCIA, 


She herself would for the rest of her life be rich ; she could 
easily make the young couple an allowance and lay by 
enough to leave them a substantial sum when she died. 
Moreover, it was difficult to believe that Sir George Brett’s 
obduracy would prove invincible. 

And thus, when Willie went away, with a heart full of 
joy and thankfulness, he was able to say to himself that 
his future mother-in-law was one of the best and kindest 
of women. It is not everybody who can think of his 
mother-in-law in that way, and our hero cheerfully acknow- 
ledged his great good luck. To be sure, he might, if his 
temperament had been less amiable and his spirits less 
high, have reflected that, by way of compensation, he was 
not precisely lucky in his mother ; but of course it never 
occurred to him to admit that ungenerous thought. In- 
deed, he went so far as to count in advance upon his mo- 
ther’s sympathy — which was certainly somewhat over- 
sanguine on his part. He reached home only just in time to 
dress for dinner ; so that his first opportunity of imparting 
the great news to her came later in the evening, when her 
husband, who had been virtuously employed all day in 
making studies for a new picture, started for the club to 
enjoy a little well-earned relaxation. 

I hope,” Marcia began at once, “ that Laura and Lady 
Evelyn kept their tempers with you. They must have 
been furiously angry, I know ; but they would probably 
have sense enough to see that they couldn’t show their 
anger without being ridiculous. I wonder what they are 
saying about you now.” 

“ Nothing so unfair as what you are saying about them,” 
answered Willie, the color mounting into his cheeks for a 
moment. “ You don’t understand them^ne bit, mother.” 

Marcia smiled. “ I flatter myself that I understand them 
pretty well,” said she. “ Not being in love with the girl, 
I can form a rather more impartial opinion of her than 
certain other people can ; but I won’t vex you by repeat- 
ing it. As for Laura, I don’t forget that she was my best 
friend for a great many years. She has her little failings ; 
stitl I would rather not dwell- upon them now that she is 
about to drop us for ever. Because I am very sure that 
that is what she is going to do.” 

“ No, that is just what she is not going to do. It has 
all come so suddenly and unexpectedly that I can hardly 
believe it is true ; and I am sure you will hardly believe it. 


MARCIA. 


381 

All the same, it is true. Evelyn has promised to marry 
me, mother, poor as I am, and Lady Wetherby has given 
her consent. Now, what do you think of these two worldly- 
wise people ? ’’ 

What could Marcia be expected to think of worldly-wise 
people who were exhibiting themselves in so much more 
generous and unselfish a light than she herself was doing ? 
She turned pale and bit her lips with vexation ; she made 
a gallant effort to congratulate Willie, and to assure him 
that if he was happy she was satisfied ; but her congratu- 
lations had no ring of sincerity, and her dissatisfaction was 
not to be concealed. She was obliged to say at last that 
Laura Wetherby’s generosity was perhaps not quite as 
striking as it might appear. 

“You see, my dear Willie, she must know perfectly well 
that all this talk about your being a poor man is really 
nonsense. George wouldn’t have disinherited you in any 
case, and as soon as he hears that you are going to marry 
an earl’s daughter he will hasten to show that earls and 
countesses can’t outdo him in magnanimity. The whole 
thing is a farce. However, I don’t want you to think me 
unkind. What must be must, and I will try to like Lady 
Evelyn for your sake, though I am afraid she will never like 
me. Only I can’t pretend to be jubilant or to be grateful 
to her for her condescension in accepting yo\\—/aute de 
mieux.^' 

If Willie had not possessed one of the sweetest dis- 
positions that ever mortal man was blessed with, he would 
have lost his temper and told his mother some wholesome 
truths. He did neither the one nor the other ; but he was 
hurt, and could not speak as he would have liked to speak. 
One may make great allowance for the jealousy of those 
who love us j yet it is scarcely possible to conciliate them 
wliile jealousy distorts their whole mental vision. He 
could only trust to time for the bringing about of a happier 
state of things. 

Lady Wetherby, who called on the following day to talk 
matters over with her old friend, was a good deal less 
forbearing. Lady Wetherby (and small blame to her !) 
thought that she was behaving very handsomely, and had 
been prepared to receive such acknowledgment of her 
handsome behavior as was her due; so that it was not 
a little provoking to her to find herself confronted by a 


382 


MARCIA. 


grumbling, disconsolate woman, who would say no more 
than that she was resigned to the inevitable. 

“ Oh, I thoroughly understand that from your point of 
view the match isn’t exactly a desirable one, Laura,” Mrs. 
Archdale was pleased to admit ; “ but that doesn’t make it 
a desirable one from mine. It isn’t only that Willie is 
much too young to marry, but I know perfectly well that 
in giving him up to your daughter I am giving him up 
altogether and finally, because she has never made any 
secret of her aversion for me. Naturally, I don’t enjoy 
that prospect.” 

“ What nonsense ! ” exclaimed Lady Wetherby. “ Evelyn 
has no more feeeling of aversion for you than 1 have, and 
men who can afford to marry always do marry sooner or 
later. The sooner the better, I should be inclined to 
say. And I must confess I think that a mother who was 
really fond of her son would be only too delighted to hear 
that he had been successful with the girl upon whom he 
had set his heart.” 

“ Oh, yes, that would be your way of looking at it no 
doubt. It is the usual and conventional way. But I 
suppose Willie has been more to me than most sons are 
to their mothers. I have been parted from him all these 
years, and now, just when he seemed to be coming back 
to me again, I must lose him — and forever ! There is no 
help for it ; he obeys his natural instincts, and I am not 
entitled to complain. Only you must not ask me to jump 
for joy.” 

“ I am sure nobody wants you to jump, Marcia,” 
returned Lady Wetherby, losing all patience ; “ if anything 
in the world is wanted of you, it is only that you should 
try to realize the existence of other people, whose happi- 
ness is probably as important to them as yours is to you.” 

Marcia melted into tears. “ Happiness ! ” she ejaculated 
— “ happiness and I parted company a very long time ago. 
It seems to me that everybody has entered into a league 
to make me appear odious. That has been George’s and 
Caroline’s object all along, and certainly they have managed 
to achieve it. It looks as if I had extorted money from 
Willie and had caused his uncle to cast him adrift j it looks 
as if I were opposing his marriage, and as if I didn’t care 
what became of him so long as I could keep him with me 
for the rest of my life. Yet none of these things are true. 


MARCIA, 


383 


Was it to please myself, do you think, that I surrendered 
him to the Bretts? Was it to please myself that I asked 
him for a loan of a few thousand pounds ? And should I 
have done such a thing, even to save Cecil and myself from 
ruin, if I had not been as certain as I sit here that George’s 
menaces were mere idle vaporing ? But I suppose it is 
useless and hopeless to undertake my own defense. All 
my life long it has been the same story ; my mistake has 
been in loving those whom I have loved too much. If I 
had been ordinary and reasonable and commonplace, as 
— as most people are, perhaps — I shouldn’t be so miserable 
now.” 

She really was miserable. Lady Wetherby, notwithstand- 
ing some pardonable irritation, perceived that, and was. 
not cruel enough to point out what she perceived quite as 
clearly, namely, that Marcia did not so much as understand 
the meaning of love. There are plenty of human beings 
whose passions and affections, strong though they may be, 
are purely subjective in nature, and any endeavor to con- 
vince such persons of selfishness would be as futile as 
the attempt to persuade a man with no musical ear that 
there is an excruciating difference between G natural and 
G flat. It was somewhat trying to be compelled to take 
up an apologetic tone instead of nobly disclaiming all 
desire to be met with apologies ; but Lady Wetherby was a 
most good-natured woman. She admitted that Marcia’s life 
had not been a fortunate one ; she declared that there 
should henceforth be no question of separating her from 
her son ; and she agreed — although she was by no means 
convinced of that — that Sir George .Brett was sure to 
“ come round.” 

Willie, who knew his uncle, was very certain that Sir 
George would do no such thing, and very anxious that no 
mistaken hopes should be entertained by Lady Wetherby 
upon the subject. “ Of course,” he told her, “ I shall 
write and announce my engagement ,to Uncle George, and 
he will be delighted to hear of it. By return of post I shall 
get a letter to say that, under all the circumstances, he 
is willing to give me one more chance, and that if I will 
promise and vow never to lend my mpther another penny, 
he will overlook my past disobedience. But I can’t make 
such a promise, and he won’t be contented with anything 
less.” 


3^4 


MARCIA. 


“ Oh, well,” said Lady Wetherby, laughing and shrugging 
her shoulders, “ since you are both so obstinate there is 
nothing to be done with you, I’m afraid. Still, I trust you 
will bear in mind that for the future there will be at least 
one person who will have more claim upon you than your 
mother.” 

Willie nodded. “ I can’t give what I haven’t got,” he 
replied ; “ but indeed, I don’t think my mother will ever 
apply to me again ; only 1 mustn’t bind myself to let he^- 
starve, you. see.” 

He dispatched his communication the same evening ; 
but before there had been time for him to receive an 
answer by post a telegram reached him from Sir George 
which threw his present affairs into the background for the 
time being — 

‘‘Your aunt is dying, and wishes to see you. Come at 
once.” 

When this summons was shown to Marcia, she smiled 
sceptically, remarking, “ If Caroline had died every time 
that she has been dying in the last twenty years or so, she 
would be a great deal more dead than Queen Anne by 
now. George’s telegram, being interpreted, only means 
that he is going to haul down his colors.” 

But whatever the meaning of it might be, it could not 
be disregarded, and Willie, after hastily packing up a few 
clothes, took the first train for London. 


CHAPTER XLVIII. 

SIR GEORGE’S LAST CONCESSION. 

Ever since the days of .^sop, and doubtless during the 
many centuries which preceded the birth of that moralist, 
people who had fallen into the habit of crying “ Wolf ! ” 
have had to suffer the penalty of being disbelieved when 
the wolf has at length reached their door, and Marcia had 
every excuse for surmising that her sister-in-law was no 
nearer death now than she had been a dozen times before. 
Nevertheless, Lady Brett’s doctor could have tojd her 
that for some time past his patient’s life had not been 
>yprth a year’s purchase. 


MARCIA. 


3S5 

Willie, who was more or less aware of this, did not share 
his mother’s incredulity, and, as he journeyed towards 
London, his soft heart was full of sorrow, in which there 
was a touch of quite uncalled-for remorse. In reality his 
conduct as a nephew had been irreproachable ; yet it was 
natural enough that he should accuse himself of ingrati- 
tude, for his aunt had certainly been fonder of him than 
he had ever been of her. Nobody, perhaps, could have 
contrived to be very fond of Lady Brett, whose defects 
were of a kind more repulsive to ordinary human nature 
than those of less deserving persons ; it is, no doubt, far 
easier to sympathize with an interesting sinner than with 
a dull and self-righteous saint. But characters are, for 
the most part, created by circumstances, and she might 
possibly have been an altogether different woman if her 
parents had not happened to be narrow-minded, bigoted 
people, or even if she had had children of her own. At 
any rate, she had been a good friend to Willie ; she had 
more than once averted collisions between him and his 
uncle, and it grieved him to think that he must disappoint 
her upon what might very likely prove to be her death-bed 
by refusing to grant the request which he was pretty sure 
that she intended to make. Although he could not promise 
to abstain from aiding his mother in the event of her 
becoming destitute, his common-sense told him that the 
exaction of such a promise was not wholly unjustifiable. 

As matters turned out^ however, he was spared any pain 
that his aunt could have inflicted upon him ; for when he 
arrived at Blaydon Hall, the butler, who admitted him, 
shook his head and said — 

“ You’re too late, Master Willie ; her ladyship passed 
away quite quiet and easy soon after the middle of the day. 
We none of us thought the end was so near ; but the doctor 
he told me the wonder was she’d lasted so long. I wish 
you could have been here yesterday, sir.” 

“ I am very, very sorry,” said Willie, truthfully enough. 
“ I had no idea that she was dangerously ill until I got my 
uncle’s telegram, and then I started by the first train. How 
is he, Benson ? ” 

“ Well, sir, he do seem to take on more than I should 
have expected,” answered the man candidly. “ Sir George 


25 


386 


MARCIA. 


was never one to show much affection, not so far as words 
go ; but he’s always been what I call a domestic man, and 
I dessay he feels terrible lonesome now. I hope you ain’t 
a-going to desert him in his old age, Master Willie — if 
you’ll excuse the liberty of my saying so.” 

Benson, who for many years past had been accustomed 
to take any liberties that he saw fit to take with the heir- 
presumptive, was evidently aware of the existence of 
strained relations between that young man and the head 
of the house ; still it was impossible to discuss these with 
him, and Willie made no reply. 

“ Do you think my uncle would like to see me ? ” he 
asked, after a pause. 

Benson said he would inquire, and, having done so, 
presently returned with an affirmative answer. “ Sir 
George is in the libery, sir. He ain’t had nothink to eat 
since breakfast, and he won’t give no orders ; but if you 
was to tell him you was tired and hungry after your jour- 
ney, maybe he’d take some dinner with you. Come to his 
time of life, ’tis foolishness to go to bed upon an empty 
stomach, you see.” 

Willie found his uncle looking very old, shaken and sub- 
dued. The butler’s description of Sir George was as accu- 
rate as the descriptions which servants give of their masters 
generally are : he was not a particularly affectionate man, 
but he was essentially domestic, and he fully realized that 
his wife’s death had left him alone in the world. How- 
ever, he had nothing to say about that aspect of the blow 
which had fallen upon him, nor did he make any allusion 
to the news of Willie’s engagement to Lady Evelyn Fol- 
jambe. He was an old-fashioned Philistine of the evan- 
gelical variety of that species, and probably he thought 
that at such a time it would be indecent to do so. For 
the same reason, no doubt, he was sitting with the family 
Bible open upon the table before him, and from it he 
quoted certain passages which seemed to be appropriate to 
the occasion. Willie could not persuade him to enter the 
dining-room ; but he consented, by way of compromise, to 
have some food sent in to him upon a tray. He then 
thought it necessary to mention the arrangements that he 
had made with the undertaker and the date which had 


maj^c/a, 387 

been decided upon for the funeral : after which he expressed 
a wish to be left alone. 

During the next few days Willie saw very little of him, 
but gathered from some hints which he let fall in one of 
their interviews that he desired to maintain a sort of truce 
until Lady Brett’s remains should have been deposited in 
the church-yard, and the blinds at Blaydon Hall should 
have been once more drawn up. He gave it to hz under- 
stood that, after that, it would be his duty to deal briefly 
with matters pertaining to this present world. 

And indeed it must be confessed that he lost no time in 
discharging that duty. When the last rites had been per- 
formed, and when the few persons who had been invited to 
attend them had gone away, Sir George drew his nephew 
into the dark little room which he called his study, and, 
having requested him to take a chair, began — 

“ I have a proposition to make to you, Willie. I make 
it, I will own, with some degree of reluctance ; but 1 make 
it in deference to the wishes of one whom we have lost and 
who was dear to us both. Your poor aunt urged upon me 
repeatedly that I should, at the price of a sacrifice which 
she considered that I might easily make, reinstate you upon 
your former footing, and I am not concerned to deny that 
the sacrifice suggested is in itself comparatively trifling. 
To the principle involved I cannot but object ; still, since 
I have resolved to make this last overture, it would be 
superfluous, as well as ungracious, to dwell upon that. In 
a word then, I propose for the future to pay your mother 
;^iooo a year, and to leave in the hands of trustees a sum 
sufficient to produce the same annual amount for her bene- 
fit. On her decease this amount would cease to be pay- 
able, because I really do not see why I should provide for 
Mr. Archdale. In return I will merely ask you to give me 
your word of honor — which I know will be kept — that your 
mother shall receive no more gifts or loans of money from 
you. If you agree, I will gladly make such provisions for 
you and your wife as I told Lady Wetherby that I would 
make ; but if you decline, I must wash my hands of you. 
I shall then have done all that your aunt’s kindness 
prompted her to wish that I should do.” 

Now this was undoubtedly a generous proposal, and 
Willie understood that its generosity was not of a pecu- 


MAKCIA. 


3S8 

niary kind alone ; yet he was less sensible of that than of 
what seemed to him to be the insulting assumption that 
his mother could be and must be bought off. In her name 
as well as his own he gravely thanked his uncle, but made 
so bold as to assert that she would not accept the bribe 
held out to her. 

“She will accept it,” returned Sir George, with calm 
confidence, “ unless she thinks that she may do better for 
^ herself by refusing it. In all probability, however, she will 
not care to play so risky a game. The question is whe- 
ther, if she does accept, you will make thef promise that I 
ask for.” 

“ Oh yes, in that case I would make the promise,” an- 
swered Willie, “ but I don’t think the case will arise. If 
you would only believe it. Uncle George, money isn’t the 
first and last consideration with everybody. Look at Lady 
Wetherby for instance — you’ll allow that she has proved 
herself to be disinterested.” 

Sir George smiled. “ My dear boy,” he answered, “ I 
have no quarrel with Lady Wetherby, who, I daresay, is 
as disinterested as she can afford to be ; but I doubt whe- 
ther she or your mother gave me credit for having strength 
of mind enough to keep my word. Well, they were right, 
you see ; although I should certainly have kept it if your 
aunt had not interceded on your behalf.” 

Sir George, it may be, was not very sorry to be provided 
with so good an excuse for doing a foolish thing; but 
Willie, as will be understood, had no great desire to be- 
come a rich man upon the terms proposed. Personally, 
he did not care very much about riches ; he had obtained 
all that he asked of Fortune in the knowledge that Evelyn 
loved him for his own sake, and naturally he could not 
wish his mother to justify the cynical estimate of her upon 
which Sir George’s suggestion was based. 

“What are Lady Wetherby’s plans for the winter? ” his 
uncle asked presently. “ Didn’t you say something in 
your letter about her going to the south of France? ” 

“ Yes,” answered Willie ; “ but she has postponed her de- 
parture for the present. Indeed, I am not sure that she 
hasn’t given it up altogether.” 

Sir George laughed. “ I see. And perhaps for the same 
reason you may have given up the idea of going to India. 


Marcia. 


3^9 

Well, I hope you will give up the army also as soon as 
things have been definitely settled. You can’t drag your 
wife about from one garrison to another ; and, if she will 
consent to it, I should like you to consider this house as 
your home. I don’t think you will find me much in your 
way. However, that must be a matter for your decision 
and Lady Evelyn’s ; I only ask you to take pity upon a 
lonely old man as often as you can.” 

Willie expressed the gratitude which he honestly felt ; 
yet it was with little expectation of being able to accede to 
his uncle’s request that he returned to Torquay the next 
day. On his arrival he drove straight from the station to 
Malton Lodge, because he was not only eager to see Evelyn, 
but thought it would be desirable to take counsel with her 
before making the formal proposition to his mother which 
he was bound to make. If, however, he was secretly anx- 
ious to hear his view of that proposition confirmed by his 
betrothed he was disappointed ; for Lady Evelyn at once 
confessed that Sir George’s offer did not strike her as being 
in any way outrageous. 

“ He means to be generous ; and I must say that I think 
he is rather generous,” she remarked. I don’t see why 
Mrs. Archdale should take offence at his offer.” 

Wouldn’t you take offence if such an offer were made 
to you ? ” asked Willie, a little reproachfully. 

“ I don’t know what I might or might not do if I were 
in Mrs. Archdale’s place — I can’t quite imagine myself in 
her place,” answered the girl. “ Only you mustn’t be 
shocked and disgusted if she decides that a thousand a 
year in the hand is worth a good many thousands in the 
bush. Most people are of that opinion, you know.” 

“ But most people,” Willie urged, “ wouldn’t like to be 
treated as one treats an importunate beggar or an unbroken 
dog. Offering an annuity in that way is very much the 
same thing as saying, ‘ Take that and hold your tongue ! ’ 
I hope my mother will refuse it ; and I think she will. 
Shall you be sorry if she does ? ” 

The girl looked at him in an odd, half-compassionate 
way, but with a great deal of love and tenderness in her 
eyes. He seemed to her to be so good and so simple and 
to have so very slight a comprehension of the despicable 
race to which we all belong. 


390 


MARCIA, 


“ My dear,” she said gently, “ nothing that pleases you 
will ever make me sorry. Do you think I am afraid of 
being poor ? I wish I could have the chance of proving 
to you that no hardships could ever seem like hardships to 
me so long as we shared them. But I shall not have the 
chance, because we are not going to be poor at all. Do 
you know that Wetherby has written in the kindest pos- 
sible way about our engagement, and that he proposes to 
make magnificent settlements on my behalf? He says that 
if you are half as good a fellow as you used to be, he would 
rather have you for his brother-in-law than any other man 
in England. Well, of course, I don’t know what you used 
to be, but it seems to me that you are good enough now 
to deserve the settlements. And perhaps, after all, I am 
wrong and you are right, and this world isn’t quite the 
wretched hole that I thought it was.” 

“ I only wish everybody in the world was as happy as I 
am ! ” ejaculated Willie. “ My mother isn’t, and I am 
afraid she never will be ; but that is hardly her fault. The 
world hasn’t treated her very well, you see.” 

“ Her daughter-in-law is going to treat her well, at all 
events,” Lady Evelyn declared, for she could guess that 
that was what he wanted her to say. “ Hitherto we haven’t 
hit it off very successfully ; but that is because I haven’t 
tried. I am going to try now.” 

With that encouraging assurance to comfort him, Willie 
went on his way by-and-bye, and if the promptitude with 
which he communicated it to his mother was no great evi- 
dence of tact, some allowance may surely be claimed for 
a lover who honestly believed that every sentiment uttered 
by his beloved was worthy of the most enthusiastic 
admiration. Marcia, as may be supposed, thought differ- 
ently. She tossed her head and said that she really had 
no ambition to be patronized by Lady Evelyn. 

“ Since she is to be your wife, I must make the best of 
her. We shall not quarrel — I hope we are neither of us 
quite silly enough to do that — but it would be ridiculous 
to pretend that we shall ever be upon affectionate terms. 
Indeed, it is not likely that we shall often meet.” 

As for Sir George’s proposition, she scouted it with all 
the indignation that her son could have desired. It was a 
gross insult she affirmed — the last of many which had been 
addressed to her from the same quarter. Of course, its 


MARCIA. 


39 * 


sole object was to produce an estrangement which Sir 
George had been laboring through all these years to bring 
about, and she begged that Willie would write an em- 
phatic refusal in her name on the morrow. 

Nevertheless, when the morrow came she withdrew her 
refusal. She had talked matters over with her husband in 
the interim, and he had persuaded her that she was not 
only entitled, but bound, for the sake of both her children, 
to accept the shred of a large fortune which would other- 
wise go a-begging. Archdale was fully alive to the mean- 
ness of an offer which, in the event of his wife’s premature 
decease, would throw him once more upon his own re- 
sources ; but he pointed out that it would be both ungen- 
erous and useless to deprive poor Willie of his inheritance, 
saddled though it was with conditions which never ought 
to have been imposed upon him. So, for Willie’s sake, 
Marcia consented to pocket her pride and the money. She 
said she had never yet hesitated to make any sacrifice for 
Willie’s sake, and it was too late in the day to begin now. 

It may be strange, but it is certainly fortunate, that her 
son was able to believe in her sincerity. As she predicted, 
he has not seen a great deal of her since his marriage ; for 
the Archdales have once more made their home in Italy, 
and at Blaydon, where the young people spend a good 
part of their time, they could scarcely be made welcome 
guests. Hovvever, they were good enough to spend the 
whole of the last season in Willie’s London house, and 
there seems to be every probability of th:s becoming an 
annual custom. Archdale’s resolution to work hard has 
not yet borne much fruit ; but he says with truth that he 
has always been a slow worker, and adds that he owes it 
to himself, as well as to the purchasers of his pictures, to 
eschew haste. Marcia and Lady Evelyn are as good 
friends as their respective natures will allow them to be, 
which, to be sure, is not saying much. Yet their respec- 
tive natures have, according to their respective ways, one 
point in common ; and if between them they have not yet 
managed to spoil Willie Brett, that is only because he is 
one of those rare human beings whom it is impossible to 
spoil. 


THE END. 


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68. A True Friend. By Adeline Sergeant 50 

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